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I 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


Racing Stories 


BY 

MRS. JOHN M. CLAY 

Author of^^What Will the World Say?'' ‘‘Only a Womans" 
“Some Little of the Angel Still Lefty " “Uncle Phily" 
and “Frank Logan, ” 


“ The happiness of any life is the proper perfection of 
that being ; and hence, as the perfection of beings differ, 
so do their felicities.” — P lato. 




BROADWAY PUBLISHING CO. 

835 Broadway, New York 

BRANCH OFFICES: WASHINGTON, BALTIMORE 

INDIANAPOLIS. NORFOLK. 


COPYEIGHT, 1912, 
By 

Mrs. John M. Clay 



CCU3l4:ip 


This Little Volume 
Is respectfully inscribed to 

Lovers op the Thoroughbred Horse, 

The only true aristocrat, 

“His royal blood flowing in his veins with pristine 
pureness after the passing of centuries, 

He mocketh at fear, and is not affrighted: 
neither turneth he back from the sword.” 


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CONTENTS 


L Who Rode La Sylphide?. 7 \ 

II. Why There Was No Sermon at Mount 

Gilead 23 

III. The Bishop’s Daughter 

IV. Honors Are Easy 46 

V. The Mexican Empire Steeplechase 61' 

VI. My Kingdom Is Not Of This World 70 



WHO RODE LA SYLPHIDE? 


I. 


A STORY OF THE LEXINGTON RACE COURSE. 

Near the Phoenix Hotel, more than twenty years 
ago, two men chanced to meet. They were “Old 
Sports,” so designated; for while disconnected with 
the respectable, legitimate turf, they earned a pre- 
carious livelihood by doing business on lines — not al- 
ways commendable — incidental to turf matters: and 
perhaps no other calling fixes its impress with such 
unerring certainty. 

It is not the gorgeous waistcoat and flashy neck- 
tie emblazoned with a golden horse shoe. Nor yet the 
gleaming diamond on the left-hand fourth finger so 
much as the facial expression engendered by con- 
stantly recurring alternations of intensified hopes and 
fears — the elation with winning, and the dejection of 
losing. 

They shook hands, and reciprocally asked: “How 
is times?” Fortune had been kind to both, and they 
said so; but the inmost soul of each man was bur- 
dened with a tormenting mystery. With a single ex- 
ception there had been no turf secret that they had 
not been able to probe to the very bottom. This ex- 

7 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


ception was the occasion of humiliating sorrow, and 
indicated, as they feared, failing powers — hence, the 
anxious enquiry : “Has it been found out yit who rid 
La Sylphide?” 

The answer was delivered slowly, reluctantly: 

“Not as I have heard on for dead certain; but 
there is some that lets on that they suspicion it 
mought have been a woman.” 

“ ’Twarn’t no woman. I seed him tolerable dost 
when old Mat fetched him outen the weighin’ room. 
He was eenmost as black as a nigger, and he was a 
puny chap, and looked half-dead with the breast com- 
plaint, chokin’, coughin’ and sneezin’ alarmin.’ I 
had right smart money on the mare, and she bein’, as 
every body knows, a difficult mount, I was tore up in 
my mind considerable about her jock. So me and 
some other fellows tried to crowd in to git near 
enough to size him up, but old Mat let fly at us the 
worsts’ language I ever hearn — he’s got a moughty 
rough aige to his tongue ; and what surprised me was 
the sugerry way he spoke to that thar boy — so 
onerary lookin’ too — and lifted him up to the saddle 
jest as keerful.” 

The exceeding beauty of a Kentucky stock farm 
cannot be adequately described when the trees are in 
the graceful foliage of early summer, the glowing 
sun, in generous profusion, pouring down the warmth 
of his golden light all over the living sheen of the 
luxuriant blue-grass. And beneath the azure sky 
fresh and fragrant are the breezes wafted over sweet- 
est flowers. The butterflies dance and glance, mak- 
8 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


ing a gleam of tangled colors as they come and go, 
flashing hither and thither, or settling to feed on the 
rich hearts of blooming plants. 

Within the ten counties distinctively the “Blue 
Grass Region,” there was no lovelier estate than the 
one over which Jack Chetwyn is conducting his blue- 
eyed, new-made wife toward the training stable to 
exhibit to her, as he proudly said: “The most beau- 
tiful creature on earth — ^save only you ma mieJ*' 
Assured of the sympathy from the new partner in 
the firm, he continued : “With the paternal acres I in- 
herited the race stock, and have always had my fair 
share of fliers, and I have one now that leads them 
all. But she has the drawback of an uncontrollable 
temper, and she is full of such freaks as are past 
finding out. And she has in her time caused bitter 
sorrow to many a gallant plunger ; though all the 
while when we were in New York, so gaily fluttering 
away our honeymoon, I had repeated letters from 
my trainer saying that she had turned over a new 
leaf, and doing as well as heart could wish. So well 
that he had entered her in a mile-and-quarter handi- 
cap, and had backed her for every cent he could 
raise. As a rule, I do not bet on my horses, but 
catching the infection from Davis, who is rarely 
over-sanguine, I sent on a large commission, and, 
dear” — he continued rather sheepishly — “that’s not 
all — I did so want to buy for you that lot of dia- 
monds you admired at Tiffany’s — ^but the price was 
too steep for my means. However, the great news 
about the mare so exhilarated me that I gave my 
I. 0. U. for them.” 


9 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


“Oh, Jack,” she said reproachfully, and almost in 
tears, “I really did not care for the diamonds so very 
much, and if I did, it was only a passing fancy. Now 
should the mare not win I shall feel like a horrid 
wretch.” 

“Don’t worry, dear; La Sylphide — is not that a 
pretty name.'* — will certainly win.” His tone car- 
ried conviction, she felt reassured, she believed in her 
Jack. And it seemed to her that his admission about 
the diamonds was very magnanimous, and then and 
there she resolved to be on even terms with him in 
open-heartedness. She, too, would make a confes- 
sion: 

“Jackey,” she said deprecatingly, “don’t be 
shocked, but once upon a time I was a terrible tom- 
boy. When I left school I was delicate, had a cough, 
and papa sent me down to Uncle Ben’s cattle ranch 
in Texas, where I stayed a whole year and learned 
to ride. I took to horses, and horses took to me — 
I have broken many a colt no one else could do any- 
thing with. And many a race I have won over the 
prairies with my cousins — and beat them — the horses 
would run freer for me. Uncle Ben often said of 
me and my mount that we did not seem a pair, only 
just one embodiment. There was such unity and 
friendship. You do not understand.” 

“I do understand,” he answered; “there never was 
a time when I was not fond of a good horse. A good 
horse I regard with profound admiration. Many of 
his traits tally closely with the best traits of the 
noblest human; faithful, loving, courageous — even 
when writhing under an injury so ready to forgive. 

10 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


For a kind word he will put forth his best efforts. 
And forsaking his kind he will give all, willing to 
labor, to suffer, to die.” Suddenly the panegyric 
ceased a panoramic view of the stable environments 
presented. “Hi! yi! What’s going on.? There 
seems to be a shindy.” 

Jack Chetwyn’s blood almost froze in his veins 
seeing what he saw. A beautiful bay mare, held with 
difficulty by two stout stablemen, was prancing, 
kicking, wheeling, jumping, backing, in short per- 
forming, apparently simultaneously, every action 
within the compass of violently energized and tre- 
mendous muscularity. Mr. Mat Davis, the trainer, 
who was standing near, his countenance faithfully 
portraying combined anger, horror and despair. 
These emotions were quickly communicated to the 
face of Mr. Chetwyn as he rapidly arrived at the 
scene. 

“What’s the matter, Davis.?” he asked. “What 
ails the mare.?” 

Old Mat, with great presence of mind — ^he had 
pride in his manners — ^bowed to the lady, whose fleet- 
ness of foot rivalled her husband’s, before answering 
gloomily : “In my opinion, it’s a case of all-possessed, 
gone luny all of a sudden. She has been goin’ kind 
as a suckin’ dove — the littles’ boy in the stable could 
exercise her. But jest now she comes out of her stall 
in sech a fury as never was, and she throwed boy 
arter boy as fast as we could fling them into the 
saddle. This stable is turned into a hospital. There 
ain’t a sound rider left.” This melancholy statement 
receives confirmation: groans and lamentations com- 
11 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


ing from some half-dozen small-sized humans scat- 
tered around in various stages of ruin. “And what 
we are going to do — the races not three weeks off — I 
don’t know. But it all could be rectified ef that 
blasted mare — I beg your pardon, mum — hadn’t 
throwed us over. We that had sech awful good 
prospects ! We stood to win a fearful pile of money. 
Now, every thing has gone to blue smash. Ef steam- 
boats was sellin’ for ten cents apiece we couldn’t, col- 
lectively, buy a yawl. And worse yit. Oh, Daniel 
the Prophet! there’s my sister that I persuaded, I 
felt so sure of that infernal mare — I beg your par- 
don, mum — to take the long odds with that hard 
cash she had saved up to pay off that mortgage 
that’s h’isted on the house over her head.” Com- 
pletely overcome, he turned away to hide the moisture 
gathering in his eyes. 

It was not merely the contemplation of the pe- 
cuniary loss, great as it was, that so moved him, but 
the sudden demolition of hopes, the dearest and 
sweetest, which he had allowed to curl, twine, and to 
take root in a heart that had few affections, and 
fewer weaknesses. How many times had his gaze 
wandered over the beautiful mare with rigid scrutiny 
after she had been “called on” in her work. Not a 
muscle from stifle to fetlock escaped his hand, light 
and sensitive, to detect puff or strain, and unblem- 
ished, she remained sound as a dollar, with appetite 
unimpaired. It was human-nature to shut his eyes, 
and in fancy hear the roar of the ring rampant in 
victory. And to hear the multitudinous congratula- 
tions that would be showered upon him. Ah! how 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


bitter was the awakening. How hard the sober 
reality, now to face. There seemed nothing before 
him but the misery of defeat. 

“Don’t fret, Mr. Davis,” said Mrs. Chetwyn 
kindly ; “the darkest hour is before day.” 

The trainer shook his head, refusing comfort, but 
he watched the lady with some interest as she fear- 
lessly approached the fractious steed after a con- 
centrated gaze lasting not over thirty second, un- 
heeding the warnings of the two men who were being 
dragged about like children, that she would have 
“her brains kicked out.” Without hesitation she 
placed her pretty hand on the mare’s arching frothy 
neck, gently cooing in her soft voice, “Soi, soi, you 
beauty.” An instantaneous impression was made on 
the heart and mind of La Sylphide, and she lowered 
her head to be stroked, testifying unbounded ap- 
proval of' the newcomer, who, taking the reins in her 
own hand, commanded the attendants to let her go. 
And pulling the off stirrup over, hounded into the 
saddle, and galloped away through the open gate, 
and out upon the track. 

Helpless, Mr. Chetwyn looked after her, his heart 
in his mouth. 

Once, twice, thrice the frolicsome pair careened 
around the mile course. The lady then cantered 
back, and gleefully springing to the ground, ex- 
claimed: “What a glorious creature she is! She 
moves like a bird I I am in love with her.” Her af- 
fections were fully returned; La Sylphide had never 
been so happy in her life, and seemed ready to jump 
out of her skin with delight as she gambolled and 
13 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


frisked around, and fawned upon Mrs. Chetwyn, 
who laughingly said: “Behave yourself, you dear 
foolish creature; I am going to put you right back 
into your stall. The mare submitted with admirable 
docility. 

The lady then returned to her husband, whose ap- 
pearance did not indicate approbation, and she 
promptly began: “Now, don’t scold. Jack. It was 
such a pleasure.” 

“A pleasure,” he replied with asperity, “that I 
shall take especial care you will not enjoy again. I 
never was so terribly frightened in my life.” 

“Well, don’t beat me,” she said, with a merry 
laugh. Her gaiety was so infectious that his brow 
cleared. “Now, Jackey,” she continued in a melli- 
fluent tone, “don’t make an old woman of yourself, 
but go and have an all-round look at the horses, while 
I attempt to comfort poor Mr. Davis. I believe he is 
weeping.” 

She carried the trainer off with her for a little dis- 
tance. What she said to him nobody heard, but she 
talked long and earnestly. When she turned to come 
away no one could have said that Mr. Davis was 
weeping. But he looked like a man sentenced to 
death. Mrs. Chetwyn, on the contrary, seemed in the 
highest spirits, her face wearing a commingled look 
of exultation and resolve — such as probably glori- 
fied the face of Deceus when he made his heroic 
plunge, sacrificing life for his country; or as looked 
a noble martyr sublimely marching to the stake to 
meet a fiery death for the hope that gilds the world. 

As Jack Chetwyn’s wife came smilingly to meet 

14j 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


him, he thought that she had never looked so bewilder- 
ingly lovely. Pardon him, reader, he is yet in the 
idiotic state incidental to initial matrimony, and he 
hoped that she was not going to ask to be allowed to 
ride La Sylphide again. He feared that it would 
not be possible to deny any request that she would 
make. She did not ask to ride La Sylphide, but she 
said, and her voice was low and sweet: “Jackey, my 
darlinty Aunt Rebecca is a good deal complaining, 
and she wants me to pass a week or two with her. 
I do not like to refuse her, she was so kind to papa 
when he was all broken up after the war. It was her 
money that started him in business. But you will 
be busy with the horses and won’t miss me.” 

“I will though, but I suppose Aunt Rebecca must 
have her way for this once.” 

“Of course she must. Now don’t be a goose. Jack. 
You can expect me to go with you to see La Sylphide 
win her race.” 

As they walked homeward, promenade a deuXy her 
beguiling tongue brought him to a very hopeful view 
about the prospect of his horses: “They were all 
sound, and some hints had been given Mr. Davis, 
without wounding his feelings, about the management 
of La Sylphide.” 

Truth is mighty and will prevail, and it is useless 
to deny that Jack Chetwyn, left alone without the 
bright, buoyant presence which had so soon become 
to him what sunshine is to the flower, that his spirits 
sank rapidly. There is a popular superstition among 
horsemen to the effect that when racers by extraord- 
inary good luck, which, in plain English, means good 
15 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


management, are brought up sound, and in blooming 
condition till the time is near at hand for them to 
face the starter, then, should one go amiss, a baneful 
epidemic is communicated, which will go through the 
stable. Also, that unfortunate I. O. U. forged to 
the front insistantly. “I don’t know,” he communed 
within himself, with commendable veracity, “what 
made me such a simpleton. I knew the dear little 
soul wasn’t hungry for diamonds, but I had a yearn- 
ing to give them to her. Well! well! if the worst 
come, I will sell the horses, and maybe some of the 
acres. Meanwhile I’ll look sharp after the horses. 
And wouldn’t it be a joy if La Sylphide should win.” 

Going to the stable he found old Mat in a horrible 
humor, apparently without cause, for the racers were 
taking their work well — only the mare was not visible. 

“Why is not La Sylphide out.?” asked Mr. Chet- 
wyn. 

Had old Mat been struck between the eyes, he 
could hardly have shown greater exasperation, but 
he answered : “I got her worked, somehow, yearly this 
mornin’, by herself, to keep her quiet.” Scowling 
fiercely at the owner, he continued, “See here, Mr. 
Jack, I’ve got on my hands the biggest contract 
about that cussed mare that ever a man had ; and if 
her race was well over, I’d eenmost be willin’ to work 
for you the rest of my nateral life free, gratis, and 
for nothin’,” he sighed deeply. “I’ve got to, no 
backin’ out, to keep on with her. And I am goin’ to 
do it my own way, and don’t you interfere. I’m doin’ 
all a man kin do, and we’ve got a chance to win — ef 
Providence don’t split on us.” 

16 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


Mr. Chetwyn had got “his office.” To oppose a 
trainer is against all traditions, and the days passed 
bringing unmitigated discomfort to him, principally 
owing to the sustained ferocity of Mr. Davis’s tem- 
per. What was being done with La Sylphide he did 
not dare to ask. For whole days he would sit on the 
topmost rail of the enclosure around the stable-build- 
ings, gazing dumbly at the mare’s closely locked door. 
He missed his wife. He pined for the comfort she 
would be sure to give him. And how happy he felt 
on the day of her expected return — the eventful day 
of the mare’s race. But in place of Mrs. Chetwyn, 
came a note, expressing regret, but saying it would 
not be possible for her to return home till late after- 
noon, and without her he must go to see La Sylphide 
win her race. Jack Chetwyn crushed the note in his 
hand, lost heart, and almost decided not to go to the 
races at all. A frightful picture rose before his eyes 
• — La Sylphide brought on the track and acting like 
mad. In a despairing mood he walked to his stables, 
where there was a silence of death. He was briefly 
informed by Mr. Davis, who seemed the incarnation 
of rage, that only the mare would start to-day, and 
that she had been sent to the Association’s track. 
“And now, Mr. Jack,” snarled the trainer, “I’ve got 
before me the hardest day’s work mortal man ever 
had, and I won’t be pestered with you. Jest you 
take your place in the grand stand, and stay there, 
no matter what happens, till our race is over. What’s 
goin’ to happen the Lord in Heaven only knows. 
But I wish I was dead !” 

The Kentucky Association is the oldest living rac- 

17 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


ing club in America. Organized 1826 by about fifty 
of the prominent turfmen of central Kentucky. These 
gentlemen, passing away, were succeeded by others, 
who, in turn, made way for their successors. For 
long years here was the best racing in America, and 
characterized by decorum and fairness. Bar acci- 
dents, the best horse would win. Each jockey knew 
that he must ride fair, and win if he could. 

The world’s best fighters had their moments of 
fear, and Jack Chetwyn had a strong inclination to 
“flicker” — to keep out of it, but with an effort he 
nerved himself to face consequences. But he could 
not remember of ever previously feeling so utterly 
miserable as when he passed through the entrance 
gate and made his way to the grand stand. Un- 
sociable, he did not respond with cordiality to the 
many efforts made to engage him in conversation. 
“Excuse me,” he said, hurrying on. “Well, stay,” 
was persisted, “long enough to tell us who it is with 
the outlandish name that is going to ride your mare.” 

“I really don’t know. Somebody that Davis has 
picked up,” answered Chetwyn, hurrying away. 
Looking after him a puzzled turfite said discon- 
tentedly: “I wonder what is the matter with Jack 
Chetwyn. He ought not to have got married if he’s 
going to turn rusty on his old pals.” A grave voice 
responded : “I have heard that his mare has been play- 
ing the dickens. That is a dispensation few can bear 
up under jovially — I have been there myself.” 

It was some minutes after, Mr. Chetwyn finding a 
seat, looked at the program held loosely in his hand. 
Thoughts of La Sylphide filling his brain he began 
18 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


to hate the mare and to wish that she had died in in- 
fancy. Then he was conscious of a feeling of com- 
passion for the unlucky chap going to ride her, and 
mechanically he sought out the name; and it was 
plain to read: “John Chetwyn’s bay mare, La Syl- 
phide, by Fellowcraft — dam Sylph by Imp. Glenelg; 
jockey Pheohki.” 

Jack Chetwyn was a high-minded, high-bred 
American, and if he did not aspire to be dashingly 
courageous, he could always be decently collected, 
but he felt strangely unnerved at the sight of that 
name; it seemed instinct with sinister warning — it 
affected him in a harassing way, as if some one he 
dearly loved were in peril. But the thought that his 
wife was safe with Aunt Rebecca, and that he would 
soon have her to himself again, enabled him to shake 
off the depressing influence — measurably. 

Second only to the inviolability of the Masonic 
secrets, supposed to be, were the affairs of a training 
stable. But let a horse go wrong, the birds of the 
air — the breezes of heaven seem to divulge it, and 
La Sylphide’s misconduct had leaked out, and deeply 
anxious were those who had made investments about 
her. But of late the earth might as well have opened 
and swallowed her up, so little enlightenment had 
been obtained. It was now known, however, that in 
the early morning she had been brought to her quar- 
ters on the racing grounds. But no one had seen 
her. Not even for the preliminary gallop had she 
been brought out. And, unambitious of a broken 
head, no one had asked questions from Mr. Davis 
who, looking like vengeance, sat in a splint-bottomed 
19 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


chair, tilted against the mare’s door, and when the 
order came to bring the mare on the track, his only 
reply was a brief mention of the place of torment. 
But when his own split-second timer informed him 
categorically that he had not an instant to lose, with 
a deep groan he arose, unlocked the door, and brought 
out the mare, giving her in charge of one of the men. 
Then he brought out a lad completely wrapped in a 
large coarse cloak. Little of him could be seen. From 
his blue cap his black hair descends in whisks, almost 
concealing his face. At the scales the cloak was re- 
moved, but a blue scarf swaddles neck and face, the 
boy coughing and choking as if he would burst a 
blood-vessel. 

“He’s got a cold,” explained Mr. Davis gruffly, 
“and there wasn’t no time left to change riders 
adding sardonically, “these jocks ’round here ain’t 
none of them too keen to pilot this mare.” 

When lifted to the saddle the boy dropped into an 
ungainly lump. While the racers were lining up for 
the start, old Mat, with firm hold of the bridle, said : 
“This mare is vicious. I wish I may die if she did 
not eenmost clean out that Favordale colt at Ford- 
ham. I’ll take her back’ards, and let her loose when 
the field is off — to prevent accidents.” 

When the start is made, the horses off, the jockey 
on La Sylphide, still in a lump, made no effort to de- 
crease the wide gap opened. The mare’s backers were 
excited and wrathful, and a perfect storm bursts 
from a frantic mob. 

“Go along, boy ! What are you hanging back for ? 
Are you going to sleep .P” Some of the desperate 
20 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


ones would willingly revive the obsolete argumentum 
ad lapides. 

“Bump on a log ! He’s going to milk !” roared a 
jubilant plunger whose money was not on La Syl- 
phide. 

The mare and jockey, seemingly of one mind about 
the pace — a “bad last” having no terror — take the 
“heart-breaking hill,” where so many good horses 
have given up the ghost, so to speak, inexhaustively. 
But the hill surmounted then comes a surprise — the 
vast multitude almost ceased to breathe. The boy on 
La Sylphide uplifts himself, and sat down to ride. 
The willing mare, given her head, and rapidly pass- 
ing her tiring field, shoots to the front, and comes 
flying down the stretch at a flight of speed never 
witnessed before by the oldest race-goers, and reaches 
the winning post an easy winner. 

People look at one another in amazement when the 
time for the mile and quarter is hung out: 2:7% — 
the fastest time ever made on the Lexington track — 
and not since equaled. 

After the weighing in, old Mat, like a whirlwind, 
pounced upon the boy, and throwing the cloak around 
him and carrying him in his arms, thrusting him 
into a waiting carriage, shouts to the coachman: 
“Drive like lightning.” 

A wondrous joy lights up his homely face as he 
receives into his own hands the bridle-reins of the 
gallant mare. 

Winning a race in marvelous time does not consti- 
tute the best and purest joy, but it is very dazzling 
and seductive. 

21 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


Old Mat’s dream of victory is realized with its 
corollary of felicities. His name is shouted, and 
congratulations galore. Many rush eagerly to touch 
his hand. Others, that cannot get near enough, reach 
over and touch him with their walking sticks. 

Catching sight of Mr. Chetwyn, he shouted: “We 
win, Mr. Jack-” 


22 


II. 


WHY THERE WAS NO SERMON AT MOUNT GILEAD. 

“When God erects a house of prayer, 

The Devil always builds a chapel there, 

And t’will be found on examination. 

The latter has the largest congregation.” 

In bygone days, owing to the high estate of its 
principal patrons. Old Hickory at the head, racing 
was very fashionable in Tennessee; and the love of 
the thoroughbred horse pervaded all classes, masses, 
and ranks. Even the clergy did not escape the con- 
tagion — perhaps it had got into the constitution, and 
had to run its course in a modified form. 

The Rev. Hubbard Saunders owned the brood- 
mare, Rosy Clack, and bred, among other distin- 
guished performers on the turf, Tennessee Oscar 
who, like the English Highflyer, and Major Ball’s 
Florizel, never paid forfeit, nor suffered defeat, or 
felt the touch of whip or spur. 

The dam of the noted quartet — the “Four Tennes- 
see Brothers” — Madam Tonson, was the property of 
the Rev. H. H. Cryer. When she died he had her 
respectably buried, and that she should not be for- 
gotten, published an obituary notice. Small wonder 
then that some of the honest sons of toil — the back- 
23 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


bone of a country — should follow the lead of their 
betters. Notably, were two small farmers and neigh- 
bors, namely, Hiram Jones and Jason Smith. Each, 
owning a few thoroughbred broodmares, trained and 
raced the produce. 

As their hearts were in the business, nothing calcu- 
lated to ensure success was omitted, and they pros- 
pered accordingly. But the strange thing happened 
to both, that while in Nashville, attending a race- 
meeting, and attracted by motives of curiosity, went 
together to hear the preaching of that extraordinarily 
eloquent Methodist divine, Maffit. It was as good 
seed sown on rankly good ground. In brief, they 
were converted, became members of the church; and 
in the glow of a newly awakened and fervid faith, 
horse-racing which had been to them the ultima thule 
of terrestrial joys, now appeared as one of the most 
powerful allurements of the Evil One to win over 
souls to everlasting perdition; and on returning to 
their homes, sold the thoroughbreds, and energetic- 
ally began to walk, trot, nay, gallop in the new life 
inculcated by a radical change of heart. Nor was 
it enough to feel that they were making their own 
calling and election sure; there were other souls to 
be saved, and they went about pleading, praying, 
exhorting, until the entire neighborhood was meta- 
morphized into a religious community. Logs were 
cut, a church erected, and application made to the 
General Conference for a preacher. To them was 
sent Brother Amos Peacemaker, and never did clerical 
garb sit on worthier shoulders. To his sincere piety 
was added a herculean frame and a courageous spirit, 
24 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


and to begin as he meant to hold out, on the first 
occasion of his ministration he announced, that no 
backsliding, no slothful, no lukewarm Christianity 
w'ould be tolerated, that he would have none other 
than a sober, decent. God-fearing congregation. 

Brothers Smith and Jones, in their capacity of 
presiding elders, were very zealous, inspired by the 
feeling that as especial brands they had been plucked 
from the burning and were chosen vessels, appointed, 
and divinely commissioned to aid in the glorious 
work of saving souls, and they were ready to repeat 
what that great Apostle said almost two thousand 
years ago : “Though I should die with Thee, I 
will not deny Thee” — yet we all know what hap- 
pened to him before the crowing of the cock. 
Human nature at its best can rarely stand the trial, 
as it were, by fire, and “let not him that girdeth on 
his armor boast himself as he that putteth it 
off.” All too soon the Tempter cunningly pre- 
pared a snare, by means of which, to enter into 
the habitations so newly swept and garnished, and 
to battle with, and to drive out the angel. 

The Sabbath day was rarely beautiful. The 
branches of the trees were outlined clear and distinct 
against the pale, pure blue of the morning sky ten- 
derly flushed with the faintest rose-pink. There was' 
no sound far or near save the rythmic whisperings of 
the gentle breeze, and the sweet wild-birds caroling 
their tunes of praise to Him who hath said: “Let 
everything that hath breath praise the Lord.” The 
little church. Mount Gilead, was filled to overflowing 
with worshipers awaiting in decorous silence the com- 
25 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


ing of Brother Peacemaker to open the services. 
’Twas then that Brother Jones, seeing the oppor- 
tunity, invited Brother Smith to withdraw from the 
church when they could, out in the open air, have a 
full, free, private, and prayerful interchange of 
views upon a certain church matter left to their de- 
cision. Both desirous of the best means for the 
greater good, an agreement was soon reached, leav- 
ing some time on their hands — Brother Peacemaker 
unaccountably delayed. 

Ah, the pity of it, but not till the millennium shall 
have come, and the lamb can lie down with the wolf, 
and the child may place its hand on the cockatrice’s 
den; and the malignant Spirit of Evil chained for a 
thousand years, will he lose his power for the tempt- 
ing of the saints. 

Oh, Brother Jones, oh. Brother Smith, take heed 
to your selves. You have not overturned the salt, 
nor sat at table with thirteen, nor seen the new moon 
through foliage of trees, yet, even now, you are over- 
shadowed by an evil influence, and the Arch Enemy is 
near. Gird on your armor to resist valiently — ^you 
are in a danger unseen, unsuspected. 

“Brother Smith,” said Brother Jones in a pained, 
faltering voice, “I want your prayers. I need ’em, 
fer latterly, at times I am troubled in my mind. 
Doubts and fears and misgivings comes a-creepin’ 
and a-crawlin’ over me, leastways, arter being so run 
mad ’bout the savin’ of other people’s souls, I mought 
myself become a cast-a-way.” 

“Brother Jones,” replied Brother Smith, feelingly, 
and in deep contrition, “I will confess to you that I, 
26 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


too, have been afflicted with jest some of them same 
sort of senti-ments. In groanings of sperit I have 
wrastled agin it, but now and then I look longingly 
back arter the flesh-pots of Egypt.” 

A compassionate and friendly hand was laid on 
Brother Smith’s shoulder, as Brother Jones replied, 
his voice quivering with earnestness: “That old sar- 
pint, Sattin, has been a chunking of me too, and it 
mought be bekase of a consentin’ ter sin — when I 
sold my race stock, I kept back Patty Puffs’ yearlin’ 
filly, which I hadn’t orter done. But she was a rale 
beauty and I couldn’t make up my mind ter part with 
her, which I had oughter done. In course, I didn’t 
’low ter train her; but I thought she’d make a capi- 
tal ridin’ nag fer Betsey.” 

“Wall, now, that’s quare, it rely is,” said Brother 
Smith, “but that’s eggzackly what happened ter me 
’bout a yearlin’ filly of Madam Tonson’s stock. I 
never seen a finer figger of a filly — and, to-day she is 
Eliza Jane’s ridin’ nag. Brother Jones, it was a 
solemn and a bindin’ pledge we made when we prom- 
ised ter keep ourselves unstained, and unspotted from 
the world, the flesh and the devil. It was easy at 
fust. I was so lifted up with speritual rejoicin’ that 
I clean lost sight of cawnal hankerin’s; but now, 
sometimes — I do fight agin it — but it comes over me 
that boss racin’ is goin ter be ter me a stone of 
stumblin’ and a rock of offense. I know it’s a failin’ 
from grace; but ter save my life I can’t always put 
away from my mind and memory the delights of them 
wicked days, its heart-breaks nuther” — he sighed — 
27 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


“the sperit is willin’, but the flesh is weak — moughty 
weak.” 

“That’s so,” said Brother Jones. “Them was 
days when we was in the bonds of sin, and the gall 
of iniquity. But they pester me yit. I fergits 
nothin’. I kin shet my eyes and feel jest the same 
misery I felt when that Kaintucky boss, Rodolf, 
beat out Tennessee mare. Angora, in that match at 
Louisville — Kaintucky agin Tennessee — ^five thousand 
dollars a side.” 

“Brother Jones,” replied Brother Smith, “that 
same vision has riz up, mor’n onct, ter worry me. I 
was right smart out of pocket, as I know you was, 
and I didn’t want to lose my money, hut HwarnH 
nothin^ ter see our mare heat,’’ 

“She hadn’t orter been beat,” was the quick re- 
sponse. “She was plenty able ter win. But the 
mare was off, bekase of trav’lin’ and change of water, 
and bein’ amongst strangers. Though thar was 
plenty of her friends that come along with her, and 
ready ter back her through thick and thin. But it 
was our day, when Wagner beat Grey Eagle — “an 
enjoyable grin spread over his face — “I had histed 
myself on the top of a shed whar I could see good 
clean around the track, and when our boss had his 
number hung out, I jest stomped, and hollowed with 
a perfect loudness.” 

“I hollowed too,” said Brother Jones, gleefully. 
“And was jest half crazy, and come nigh throwin’ my 
pool tickets away — not knowin’ what I did.” 

Both men were now completely dominated by the 
turf fever — rampant on account of having been 
28 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


rigidly suppressed. Other races were recalled, and 
gloated over, or regretted, till the climax was reached 
in the laudation of horses each had trained and raced. 
This was progression on thin ice, and led, as might 
be expected, to a catastrophe. 

After a reminiscent sigh, more of pleasure than 
pain. Brother Jones remarked: “The common notion 
is, that hoss racin’ is a ticklish business ; but, I hold 
that when you’ve got the old, true racin’ blood, and 
stick ter it, you’ll most ginerly be thar, or thar-a- 
bouts. And, foolin’ with nothing but Rosy Clack’s 
stock, I have always had my full sheer of luck; but 
it was the surprisinist thing ter me. Brother Smith, 
that you done as well as you did, pro j ekin’ with that 
Madam Tonson stock. “She warn’t thoroughbred.” 
A blow between the eyes would not have so instan- 
taneously and thoroughly exasperated. 

“You’re a liar!” burst out Brother Smith, with 
flashing eyes. Brother Jones’ good right fist shot 
up instantly, but instead of descending, remained ar- 
rested in mid-air, by a sudden and violent diversion 
of interest, hereinafter to be related. 

Sister Jones, whose family had preceded her to 
the meeting house, concluded her arrangements for 
the Sunday cold dinner — always a thorn in the flesh 
to the southern stomachs — and then tied on her bon- 
net, somewhat loosely, in her haste, before going out 
to the stile-block to mount the descendant of Rosy 
Clack, more nearly, Patty Puff, patiently waiting, 
ready saddled. 

It so happened, that Sister Smith — who had also 
been detained at home on account of household mat- 

29 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


ters — was then passing bj, riding a female offshoot 
of Madam Tonson, whose immaculate purity of blood 
had been assailed, maugre she had given to the turf 
the celebrated brothers, Monsieur Tonson, Sir Rich- 
ard, Henry and Champion. These estimable women 
were pleased to meet, and, after neighborly greeting, 
expressed the pleasure naturally afforded, by jour- 
neying together to meeting. They were elderly, and of 
irreproachable character; good wives, good mothers, 
and model church members, but each, by ordering of 
Providence, had come of a sporting family, and had 
inherited an eye for excellence of horse-flesh, hence 
the remark made by Sister Smith: “That’s a likely 
nag you’re on. Sister Jones.” 

“She is indeed,” was the reply. “She goes back 
to that well-tried, grand old mare. Rosy Clack. But 
you are ridin’ a smartish nag yourself. Sister Smith.” 

“Sartinly, I am,” was the immediate and decided 
answer. “She is a descendant of Madam Tonson. 
No better stock.” 

Sister Jones looked at her companion pityingly, 
while replying, with what she deemed Christian for- 
bearance : “Of all the brood-mares born on top of this 
earth that Madam Tonson had the most luck. Them 
four colts of hem did win many a race, onaccount- 
ably, seein’ they was not of the ginnywine racin’ 
blood.” 

“Sister Jones,” said Sister Smith, sharply, “you 
air not only talkin’ ’bout what you don’t know, but 
you air insultin’. Madame Tonson was jest as well 
bred as Rosy Mack, or Rosy Clack, whichever mought 
be her name.” 


30 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


Sister Jones got red in the face, her anger was 
rising; still she endeavored to answer with modera- 
tion, and failed lamentably: “Sister Smith, may the 
good Lord have pity on you for bein’ a no-sense 
fool.” 

Sister Smith, too, got red in the face, and choleric. 
Her ancestors had seen service in the Revolution, and 
by nature she was combative and daring. 

“Fools is plenty,” she snapped, “and talk is cheap, 
but I dar you, here and now, ter let the nags lope 
erlong four miles till the meetin’ house hoves in view 
— we can then draw rein — and it will be seed which 
nag has had the most starch tooken outen her.” 

Sister Jones looked serious. The banter was entic- 
ing; but it savored of racing — it was racing, and 
there might be peril in it to her immortal soul. So, 
she shook her head. 

Sister Smith looked at Sister Jones contempt- 
uously, her Revolutionary blood intolerant of cowar- 
dice. “I knowed you’d be afeard ter resk it,” she 
said jeeringly. 

Sister Jones’ forbears had also been Revolutionary 
soldiers, and it was not in her nature to remain qui- 
escent under such a taunt, so she spoke up, bold as 
a lion : “I ain’t afeard ter resk it. And when you say. 
Now, we’ll break, and never ease up tell the meetin’ 
house is in sight; and, in my way of thinkin’, your 
nag will git thar on three laigs — ^if she don’t die on 
the way.” 

“Blood will tell,” and, at the word, the high-born 
animals bounded away, and in three jumps were rac- 
ing, side by side, neck and neck, and for a mile neither 
31 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


could get one inch the better of the other. Then, 
owing to some impediment in the road, the descendant 
of Rosy Clack had the misfortune to stumble, and 
lost yards. “Go on, mare!” shouted Sister Jones, 
applying her riding-switch vigorously. The mettle- 
some animal, recovering her foot, and straining every 
nerve, forged ahead, passing her adversary. 

“Go ’long, brute !” cried Sister Smith, lashing the 
relation of Madam Ton son, who struggled on un- 
flinchingly till she reached that pretty lean head in 
her front, racing like the wind. Now it was any- 
body’s race. First one, then the other showed in 
first place — they were doing all they knew how. 
Sister Jones’ loosely tied bonnet flow off. Quick to 
follow it was Sister Smith’s alpaca cape. This de- 
fection of those articles of their attire was deeply felt 
by the ladies, who at once became morbidly anxious 
to instantly discontinue the contest, and tugged at 
the reins. But the hard-bottomed stock had not yet 
enough of it, and out of hand, raced on till, mistak- 
ing the church for the judge’s stand — owing to want 
of education — of their own accord pulled up — a dead 
heat. 

It was the first glimpse of the coming racers which 
had suspended the disamenities between Brothers 
Jones and Smith, without protest, or power of re- 
sistance, and with breathless interest they watched 
“the finish.” 

Nothing on earth is better calculated to induce 
obliquity of vision than the close finish of a well- 
contested race. 


S2 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


“Hooray,” shouted Brother Jones, flourishing his 
hat. “My mare win!” 

“No sech thing,” yelled Brother Smith. “My 
mare win!” to emphasize his assertion down crashed 
his fist against the hatless poll of Brother Jones. 

The blow was returned with savage energy. Both 
were athletic men, and immediately commenced, what 
pugilists would call, a beautiful “tw^o-handed fight” : 
but it’s one and one character changed. 

The clatter of hoof-beats had brought out the con- 
gregation as if stirred by a wind. Brother Jones 
had friends, so had Brother Smith. Fighting is 
catching, and a merry little mill was in full blast 
when Brother Peacemaker rode up. 

He was a muscular Christian, and prompt. He 
jumped from his horse, and with consistent, impartial 
and well-delivered blows soon conquered a peace. 

“Pretty church-members you are,” he cried, 
stamping. “There is not enough Christianity in this 
whole congregation to rattle in a mustard seed. Go 
home, kneel and pray, and chastise your wicked 
bodies, and macerate your wretched spirits, and per- 
haps the good, all-pitying God, knowing your weak- 
ness, may pardon you, and with humble, penetential 
hearts come to meeting next Sunday. There will he 
no sermon at Moimt Gilead to-day,^' 


33 


III. 


THE bishop’s daughter. 

In the trimly kept plaismce of the Episcopal resi- 
dence at Louisburg underneath acclimated exotics 
stands a young girl. The sunbeams that flicker 
through the graceful foliage of the evergreens dance 
on the golden head — glisten in the soft blue eyes — 
tinging with the faintest pink the tender oval of her 
delicate cheek. Her well-formed figure, slight and 
agile, is slightly bent in an attitude of wistful ex- 
pectancy as from a heart not at ease about some one 
absent. Her face brightens at the sound of a fa- 
miliar step, but loses its brightness, catching a 
glimpse of the anxious, careworn look of the man 
who approaches not with the joyous animation of a 
lover to a rendezvous, but with the lagging steps of 
a bringer of bad news. 

“Has anything happened to the mare.^^” she asked, 
advancing with quick steps. 

He takes the two hands extended to him, and hold- 
ing them in his clasp for a few moments, released 
them with a sigh. 

“Helen,” he said, “the whole round world does not 
hold so miserable a creature as you now see before 
you. When we parted yesterday — I was almost too 
happy — I saw my way to you. But now,” he added 
34 . 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


bitterly, “I might as well hope for the brightest star 
in Orion’s belt.” 

“Has anything happened to the mare.?^” again she 
asks, her lip quivering. 

“Nothing has happened to the mare, but Sam, her 
rider, too honest to be bought, has been reached in 
another way. Neither I nor the trainer know how 
it happened, but the boy has been got hopelessly in 
liquor, and won’t be fit to ride for a week — and our 
race is to-morrow.” 

“Can’t you get a substitute?” she asked in a chok- 
ing voice. 

“No, there is not another jockey between the At- 
lantic and the Pacific but Sam that can ride her — or 
will dare to — she fights her jockeys like a demon. 
But she lowered her colors to Sam, showing for him a 
freakish fondness. But even so, her moods are no- 
toriously changeable as the wind, and the bookies are 
afraid of her — that’s why I obtained such long odds 
about her. Helen,” his face flushed, “I have a morti- 
fying admission to make. I have been so extrava- 
gant that my father, when he died three years ago, 
deemed it best to constitute a trust, and I do not 
come into my property till I am thirty years old, and 
here I am at twenty-eight an infant in the eyes of the 
law. My allowance has been liberal, but it was not 
enough. It takes a deal of money when, besides or- 
dinary expenses, you keep a yacht in commission, and 
a string of race-horses — and back them. But it has 
cost me infinitely more — backing friends. With the 
money lenders there is hardly an autograph so well 
known as mine — my I. O. U.’s are scattered around 
35 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


thick as autumn leaves. To pay, sometime in the 
future, was a matter of course, and it never disturbed 
me till I had to face the Bishop, your father, to ask 
his consent for our engagement. He was not par- 
ticularly hostile, but said it was ‘‘absolutely useless to 
speak to him on that subject till I was a free man, 
and a man who owed money was not a free man. 

“Therefore it became an urgent necessity to re- 
lieve myself from indebtedness. In two years I will 
have my property and could then clean the slate. 
But two years is an eternity to wait ; besides, I have 
dabbled over-much with race-horses not to know that, 
occasionally — mundane conditions favorable and 
Providence concurring — astonishing coups are made. 
I had Fairy Queen, but on account of her witch- 
work, for it seemed nothing else, had little idea of 
being able to do anything with her till Sam happened 
along and the two struck up a wonderful friendship. 
Then a fair vision rose of being able in a few months 
to free myself from liabilities and to gain you. I 
told you this, dear, and made you a willing promise, 
that if things went well for this once the turf should 
know me no more.” 

The speaker was a tall, gracefully formed man; 
though about his face there were no remarkable 
points of beauty saving a very brilliant pair of dark 
eyes, but from the crown of his head to the soles of 
his feet he was palpably thoroughbred, all the way 
through. After hesitating a moment, he raised his 
head defiantly, as if visibly confronting a physical 
danger, proceeded — ^his voice was musical and clear, 
though low and inexpressibly sad : 

36 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


“Situated as I am, dear, it would be unmanly, dis- 
honest, to exact the fulfilment of your promise — ^the 
current is setting too strong against me. I release 
you from your engagement to me.” 

The girl came closer to him, a steady light in her 
blue eyes : “Percival, I refuse to be released.” 

A yearning, wistful look swept over his face, yet 
he had the courage to say; 

“You do not know, dear, what that would mean. 
I care too much for you to take you at your word. 
Success is the touchstone of the world’s regard; for 
failure there is no excuse. Spendthrift is the slight- 
est term of reproach that will be applied to me. I 
shall have a lot to bear — ^but I will bear it alone. 
Not a shadow shall rest on you.” 

This was a very noble speech, though some may 
sneer and ridicule as excessive sentimentality such 
heroics when resigning a sweetheart. Yet, in truth, 
there are in this world of ours steadfast hearts, of 
either sex, whose affections when once given cannot 
be recalled, but will cling to its object through every 
vicissitude till death. 

“Percival,” she said, “when I promised to marry 
you I did not take into consideration wealth and 
luxury, or the converse, poverty and toil, nor the 
world’s approval or censure, but I was willing to 
share your life — as I am now.” 

Percival’s eyes grew misty and he felt that he 
would like to kneel down and kiss her feet. “I am 
not worthy of you,” he murmured. 

“I do not expect,” she said, “that question will 
ever come up between us ; but let us now face facts : 

37 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


If you lose this race, how will you stand — I mean in 
a worldly sense?” 

“I can hardly bear to contemplate it,” he replied. 
‘‘I shall be owing more than I can pay. I cannot 
face importunate creditors; and I will have to leave 
the country for two years. Then, after a settlement, 
there will probably be enough left to buy a cattle 
ranch in Texas. That is the best I can offer you — 
should your patience hold out so long.” 

Without a moment’s pause she answered, “That 
will be plenty enough. To gallop with you over the 
prairies herding our cattle is the life I should prefer 
— even should the mare win.” 

“Hardly a chance of that,” he said, frankly. 
“Though when she is in the humor there has been 
nothing since Flying Childers that can race with her. 
But her wild Barb blood is so pronounced, and so well 
known, that even when she was going well, with Sam 
up, the odds were one hundred to one against her. 
Now,” he added, bitterly, “I shouldn’t wonder if it 
is not five hundred to one — and no takers.” 

A flash like a sunbeam passed over the lady’s face. 
“Just wait here a minute,” she requested, flying 
toward the house. The minutes were few ere she was 
back, almost breathless, and fluttering a crisp $500 
note. “My bishop papa,” she said, “gave me this 
to buy new clothes. I want you to invest it for me 
about the mare.” 

“No ! no !” he persisted. “I fear you would have 
to go without new clothes.” 

“That’s my concern,” she replied ; “and Fairy 
Queen has got to carry my money — to bring you luck. 
38 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


Sometimes, Percival, I have clairvoyant fits, and I 
feel it now in my bones that the mare will win. Any 
how, if our ship goes down I’ll go down with her — I 
don’t care to be saved on a raft.” 

“Well, you can’t say I didn’t warn you,” said the 
gentleman, reluctantly putting the note into his 
pocket. 

“Now, won’t you do something for me?” she asked. 

“Dear, if it pleased you to ask for my head, you 
should have it. I promise you anything and every- 
thing, without reservation.” 

“That’s a promise,” she said, laughing and cry- 
ing. “As yet, I don’t want your head separate from 
the rest of you ; but I do want you to cheer up. The 
darkest hour is ever before day, and vast are the 
potentialities of the future; and in my mind I have 
a jockey — not a professional rider, but just a boy 
who can ride the Queen. I did him a favor once — a 
little of the Good Samaritan industry — ^he was grate- 
ful and I know I can count on him. Now, don’t go 
near the stables to upset the trainer’s nerves — he’ll do 
his best. And to-morrow get a good place in the 
stand to witness our race, and” — she continued as if 
pleading for life — “remain there till the race is won 
or lost.” She caught his hand spasmodically, gripped 
it tight, finishing with a childish little pat, then she 
burst away, calling back in a choking voice: “Good- 
bye, sweetheart, goodbye.” 


The day was fine, the track fast, and no larger 
assemblage had ever congregated on Cherry Down. 
39 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


Five races were on the card, but the last one was the 
principal attraction — a four-mile dash. 

Percival Warfield had wedged himself in a corner 
of the crow^ded stand, where he could command a 
view of the whole race-course. Impassively, without 
interest, without using his glasses, held loosely in his 
hand, he had watched the four preceding races ; but 
when the order was given to clear the track for the 
fifth race, he became rigid, great drops of moisture 
stood on his forehead, and his heart beat almost to 
suffocation — less than a score of minutes will make 
or mar him. His vision is at first blurred, then it 
becomes preternaturally clear, and his hearing is 
painfully acute. 

When the bell rings for the appearance of the 
horses Fairy Queen corned first, and she looks a pic- 
ture wdth her head well up and her delicate ears 
pointed as she watches the gathering of her field. As 
Mr. Warfield’s eager glance rested upon her jockey 
he is surprised into an exclamation of dismay. Never 
in all his life had he seen such a popinjay to ride on 
any racetrack, and he muttered between his teeth: 
“He must think that he is going to ride in a circus.” 
It was consoling, however, to observe the manner in 
which the lad sat his mount, and the workmanlike 
pose of his hands. And certainly nothing conducive 
to the brilliancy of his exterior had been omitted: 
from the white leathers of his racing boots upward 
his costume was dazzling in the extreme, displaying 
in the highest perfection the ornate uses of “blue 
and blue.” 

The boy’s complexion, dark as a Spaniard’s, was 

40 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


flushed with a healthy red, and a heavy down covered 
cheek and lip; jetty curls, falling below his glisten- 
ing blue cap, hung around his face ; heavy eye-brows 
overshadow eyes so vividly bright that their color 
cannot be decided with certainty; the blue silken 
jacket unbuttoned shows the snowy cambric under- 
neath ; a broad blue sash, loosely girt about his waist, 
was tied behind into a huge bow — the spick-and-span 
newness of the whole “outfit” ultra-conspicuous. 

Fairy Queen moved up a little way, looking pic- 
turesquely handsome with her arched, swan-like neck, 
her gleaming chestnut coat set off by silver-white 
points. 

She steps daintily along, coquettishly conscious of 
her showy attractions. That she has a temper of her 
own is betrayed by the unsettled glances of her false, 
glittering eyes, always on the outlook for mischief. 
Well she knows why on this particular day her hay 
has been limited in quantity, and why she has not 
been allowed to slack her thirst freely from the stable 
bucket. But she dearly loves a race, albeit a freakish 
way of showing her fondness. 

Presently the brightening of her eyes and the 
quivering of her ears denote that she has caught the 
hoof-tramp of a horse. A big brown comes along, 
but being in — for her — an unusually composed frame 
of mind she merely shakes her head at him disap- 
provingly, otherwise meaning to treat him with 
merited contempt; but she tosses her head wildly as 
a group of other racers pass. Aware that the time 
for the start is near, she becomes so exhilarated that 
were she of less aristocratic blood she would neigh 
41 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


aloud for joy, but she contents herself with a sub- 
dued snort, and lowering her graceful head, makes 
a ringing music playing with her bit. But when 
more racers crowd around, she can contain herself 
no longer, and stands erect, on fire with excitement. 
Next she lashes out viciously at an unoffending bay 
with two white hind legs. Filled with the spirit of 
insubordination she makes herself excessively dis- 
agreeable in a variety of ways. 

The numbers are up. What a field of horses for 
the long distance event — no less than nine. 

From closely packed carriages in the field, from 
densely crowded stands, from serried masses lining 
the course, thousands of eager faces watch for the 
favorite ; and thousands of voices are asking : “Which 
is Nicodemus?” — the good thing of the year. Here 
he comes, striding along hard held, his coat glisten- 
ing like polished ivory; his muscles steel, his crest 
iron. A smile is on the face of his jockey, who 
steadies his mount deftly — ^he has taken off nine 
pounds to ride in this race, and if judgment, science, 
and horsemanship can land him, he will be first. 

The clapping, stamping, howling of the ring be- 
gins: “ril lay against the field! Bar one.” That one 
is Nicodemus ; but close to follow him is a dark brown 
horse powerfully and compactly made; broad flat 
legs, massive quarters, betraying enormous propelling 
powers — a small, plain head admirably set on a clean- 
cut throat and a strong neck; this is Bachelor, 
strongly backed for place. 

The old aphorism, that “all is fair in love and 
war,” has no application to a well-conducted race- 
42 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


course; yet, sometimes, devious methods are brought 
into play. Pending the excitement and confusion 
incidental to starting so large a field two of the 
jockeys have drawn their mounts somewhat aside and 
are hurriedly whispering. Said one: “I’ve got my 
very boots on Nicodemus.” “Same case here,” an- 
swered the other, “and I hope there may not be a 
screw loose with our horse. I have just heard that 
down there” — ^nodding toward the betting shed — 
“they are making Bachelor favorite.” “Stuff!” was 
the quick answer; “at the weight he can’t come near 
Nicodemus. But I’m afeard of danger from that 
pair,” indicating Fairy Queen and her rider. I 
busted right out laffin’ when I fust laid eyes on that 
chap. Did you ever see sech a dude? He’s putty 
enough for a dime show. He must be a f errin’ chap, 
and lamed to ride wh’ar the race horses grow. But, 
I wush I mayn’t laff on tother side of my mouth. The 
minute I see him fling hisself inter the saddle I 
knowed he had a chance if that mare behaves herself 
anyways decent — she can run a bit, and, I say, not 
ter run any resks, let us lock-horns and shet him out 
— our mounts ain’t got Tom Tutt’s chance ter win.” 
“I’m agreeable,” was the quick answer. 

This unholy alhance was redolent of trouble for 
the chestnut mare. Of a very unsusceptible nature 
she had never in all her life indulged in even an 
evanescent fancy till the sudden cardiac stirrings for 
the unstable Sam. Therefore when a substitute was 
thrust upon her, her ire was excited, and the primary 
thought was to pitch him over her head. But, in the 
equine mind there often arises a fine train of inductive 
43 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


reasoning beside which the complicated mental effort 
of the most gifted human is a fool. And after what 
she deemed a requisite protest against change of 
riders without her consent, she determined to frankly 
place herself under the guidance of the newcomer — 
to admit a derogatory truth, as he stood for an in- 
stant at her head carressing her before mounting, 
her feminine eyes had been captivated by the ex- 
traordinary splendor of his costume. 

The drum tapped. The field is off ; yet loud ring- 
ing shouts rise above the hoarse bellowing of the now 
frenzied mob: “I’ll lay against the field! Bar one” — 
the blooming flower of our plunging youth was riot- 
ous on this backer’s day. 

As the field dashed off to a fairly good start. Fairy 
Queen made a lunge to get well forward, but yields 
to a gentle check. Though a moment later observ- 
ing a pair of horses with seemingly no business in 
the race except to be in her way, her anger is aroused, 
and she ardently desires to clear a road for herself 
by means of teeth and heels ; but the idea is still ta 
the fore that she will test the exquisite joy coming, 
it is said, from a virtuous line of conduct ; so again 
she yields to a hint to bide her time. 

The pace is made a cracker. Two of the con- 
testants have singled themselves out from their com- 
panions, and are racing far in the front — apparently 
there is nothing else in the race. Entering the third 
mile Fairy Queen, still impeded by a slowly moving 
barrier, becomes very impatient, and her good re- 
solves are about coming to a hasty conclusion, when 
in rounding a turn one of the obstructing horses 
44 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


through an inadvertance swerved a little — not much, 
hardly enough for an opening. But, like a flash, 
her rider drives her through, clear, without jostling 
or impeding. This feat of horse and rider is scarcely 
noticed, so intense is the interest concentrated else- 
where. With but a scant half-mile from home, Nico- 
demus leads. He has led from the start, but not two 
furlongs from the post something happened, within 
the knowledge only of his rider ; but that experienced 
jockey, knowing what it is, resolutely sat down to 
ride to place, if possible, one more race to the credit 
of the great horse. Batchelor, inspired by the blood 
of a long line of illustrious ancestors has never fal- 
tered, but unflinchingly struggles on, creeping up 
inch by inch, reaches the neck of Nicodemus, then 
side by side they race for life or death, each noble 
horse doing all that lies within the compass of flesh, 
blood and bones, and animated by a spirit to win or 
die. Every eye is fastened on them with painful in- 
tensity till a cry is raised: “Look out! here comes 
Fairy Queen.” 

With an open track she begins her race, going 
easily within herself till there are but fifty yards 
more. Then she is let out for all she is worth. And 
springing forward goes at the rate of forty miles an 
hour. 

“By George! but she is a flyer,” said some one 
standing near Percival Warfield. The chestnut mare 
landed the race. 

Pandemonium seems to have broken loose. Shrieks, 
howls, yells burst from the multitude: “The lady!” 
“The lady !” “Fairy Queen wins !” 

45 


IV. 


HONORS ARE EASY. 

Weary is the lot of the very poor, and especially 
weary is the lot of that aged woman bed-ridden from 
chronic rheumatism, the result of over-work and ex- 
posure. Her surroundings are a pitiful showing of 
gaunt want in all its hideousness. 

In a clime less genial her dwelling, almost a ruin, 
would have been a poor defence against the heavy 
rains of summer and the chilling winds of winter. 

Yet, thanks to the good God! she is in the pos- 
session of a spontaneous blessing, not purchasable by 
the aggregate gold of the universe, in the all-absOrb- 
ing, self-sacrificing devotion merged in the per- 
son of a youthful granddaughter — ^her daughter’s 
daughter. 

This child, a robust girl of fourteen, is bending 
over her, striving with roughened fingers to gently 
stroke the grey locks. “Granny,” she said in the 
full tones engendered by outward air, “you ought 
ter have more kiver over you, and better things ter 
eat, and ’intment ter rub on your j’ints. Ef I wasn’t 
a gal I could go out and work. I am big and strong 
and can do lots of boy’s work. But I ain’t handy 
about a house. It’s quare, but my twin brother Bob 
was more delicater, and as good agin about cookin’ 
46 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


and tending ter you — it is not ‘quare,’ because he- 
redity is independent of the Salic law — I do try my 
best, but I am so rough and ork’ard that many times 
I sees you squirm when I teches you. Brother Bob 
was sesh a beauty, and so finiky in his ways. But 
he took that thar fever — and we los’ him. Nothin’ 
hurts me,” she added viciously, “but bein’ a gal I 
can’t do nothin’.” 

“Don’t talk that way, dearie,” answered the in- 
valid, who, it was evident, had seen better days, and 
the pains and privations brought on by a train of 
misfortunes not in her power to avert she bore with 
patience, but it was torture indescribable to her to 
see this child, who might have been the pride and 
ornament of a respectable household, growing up in 
such ignorance and want — great are the woes of the 
well-bom poor. “Don’t talk like that, dearie. Your 
brother Bob was a dear good boy, but too delicate 
for rough living; while you are so strong, and with 
the best heart in the world, and so brave. The 
work of these little fingers” — pressing them to her 
lips — “has kept me from starving. Ah ! if you could 
only have an education.” 

“You ain’t ter blame, granny,” the girl burst out; 
“you done your bes’ ter larn me. But arter choppin’ 
the wood, and workin’ in the crop all day, when night 
come I was so dog-tired that I couldn’t take none of 
it in. But I wants lots of things worser than edica- 
tion. I wants a good house fer you ter live in ; and 
good vittles fer you ter eat ; and good close fer you 
ter w’ar.” A sudden thought seemed to strike her. 
“Granny, it looks like that Brother Bob, who was 
47 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


so harnsome, and had sech saft ways, mus’ have took 
arter his mammy, who was a rale lady ; and ’twas me 
that took arter great-gran’-dad, who j’ined the Cul- 
pepper Guards when he was fifteen, and riz ter be a 
kurnel on the Werginny line. Great-gran’-dad was 
a gentleman; but wasteful, as I have hearn. Dad was 
a gentleman, too — but more wastefuller than gran’- 
dad : land, horses, and mules — everything slipped 
through his fingers, and he didn’t leave nothin’ ter 
us but this old shanty and a patch of pore ground. 
The worstes of it all was when his race-horses was 
took. Oh! granny, ef we jest could have kep’ some 
of them critters — I could ride the baddest of them. 
Dad said I was a nateral-bom rider. But I’m a gal, 
shucks !” 

The hot tears rushed to her bright, dark eyes, and 
angrily brushing them away, she walked rapidly to 
the open door. The prospect without was not en- 
livening. The little plantation of corn for their 
bread, over which she had toiled so faithfully, did not 
promise an adequate return, small ears on spindling 
stalks — and the prevailing drought had dried up the 
garden. She looked upward at the blue sky in a 
mute protest against hard fate; but the hero-blood 
that coursed in her veins did not counsel to sit down 
and weep ; but urged her on to action, and strength- 
ened a resolve she then made against adversity to 
wage a hand to hand fight, and to conquer. A hard 
look of earnest purpose settled over her face as she 
murmured: “Granny must be took keer of — and I 
must do it the only way I kin.” 

Returning to her grandmother’s bedside, she began 

48 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


a rapid whispering, too low for even the gentle 
breeze to catch and to brazen forth to a carping 
world. The pain-tortured woman was too enfeebled 
to urge more than a faint remonstrance; a thrill of 
admiration was irrepressible for such devoted cour- 
age. “Perhaps you are right, my daughter, there 
is no pathway, however perilous, over which a brave, 
strong spirit may not walk in safety. God’s blessing 
and mine go with you. And may the tender Father, 
who sent Raphael to Tobias, send one of his holy 
angels to keep you in charge.” 

A training stable may be non-public and on private 
grounds, yet when the racers are brought out for 
their morning work it is difficult to imagine a more 
bustling, animated scene; and that training stable in 
the far southland owned by the veteran turfman. 
Col. Ware, on this particular morning A. D. 1825 is 
in a state of abnormal excitement owing to the bad 
behaviour of Flirtilla, the pride, pet, and ornament 
of the stable. 

She is a beautiful bay mare, closely resembling 
her renowned sire. Sir Archy, in the standard of 
physical form required for the making of a phe- 
nomenal racer; but she is not well-principled, and 
wanting in the higher and nobler attributes of mind 
and heart, her conduct was frequently very repre- 
hensible, not infrequently evincing an evil temper 
utterly impervious to the most subtile blandishments 
or cajolery. Without provocation, and without com- 
punction, she would pitch her rider over her head, 
plant her feet, and decline peremptorily to join the 
49 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


other horses in their gallops. This is now what she 
has done with more than usual determination. 

Her owner stood looking on, not able, as the saying 
is, ‘‘to see his way.” At length, hardening his heart, 
he said to the trainer, “Put Gip up, and let him use 
the persuaders.” 

Gip was head groom, and general factotum, and 
rough-rider in ordinary, whose business it was to 
risk life and limbs when ordered. 

Two of the most courageous among the stable- 
helpers, approaching the mare warily, seized her 
flowing reins ; then Gip, with dexterity hardly to be 
expected from that little, weazened, dried-up old man, 
leaped into the saddle. Before now Gip, who had 
been mounted on many a rebellious steed — and bore 
on his person irrefragible proofs of his daring — in- 
stinctively feeling that she was the “wustes of them 
all,” cautiously gathered up the reins, and gave the 
mare an encouraging cluck. 

Flirtilla, still as a marble block, had been watching 
out of the corner of her eye with a pensive expres- 
sion, beyond the reach of augury; now she gently 
raised her left fore foot, and after several times 
waving it gracefully around — the beautiful silver 
white rim above the coronet flashing in the sunbeams 
— placidly replacing it on terra firma, once again be- 
comes statuesque. 

“Give her the whip!” shouted the exasperated 
trainer. 

Obedient Gip — he never flinched orders — gave her 
a stinging stroke. Without question the mare was 
intensely infuriated; but she was full of surprises, 
50 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


and instead of the violent demonstrations confidently 
expected, she breathed a sad sigh, and quietly laid 
herself down. Fortunately for Gip, he was seized 
by two alert grooms and dragged clear, not giving 
the mare time to carry out her intention of turning 
over and crushing the life out of him. For full 
sixty seconds Flirtilla lay quite motionless, then she 
got up, shook herself defiantly, to show that she was 
unconquered, and prepared for still greater length. 

A shabbily dressed boy, who had been lounging 
near, now came up to Col. Ware and said: “I kin ride 
that mar’, ef you let me.” 

“Who are you, boy,” demanded the gentleman, 
somewhat sharply. 

“I belong to granny, Mrs. Loxley, Col. Mont- 
gomery’s grand-darter — and she knows I’m out,” 
was the frank and commendable answer. 

“I know about him,” said the trainer. “He’s Bob 
Loxley’s youngster. Pore Bob, arter losin’ his wife, 
and gittin’ inter a powerful bad streak of luck, got 
ter crookin’ his elbow too often, and went ter the bow- 
wows, and gittin’ sick, was took off sudden, leaven 
his old mammy and two kids with next ter nothin’ ter 
live on. The racin’ fellers was willin’ ter chip in and 
help. But, my gracious! that old lady, proud as 
Lucifer, fired up, and wouldn’t take no help — charity, 
she called it. Though arterwards, when th’ar was a 
funeral, the nabors did drop in ter do the buryin’. 
I thought it was the boy they planted, but I must 
have been mistook, for here he is alive and kickin’.” 

“Well,” replied Col. Ware with a short laugh, 
“good blood in horse, man, or boy is no disadvan- 
51 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


tage.” Curiously he watched the newcomer, ap- 
parently fourteen years or less — no one opposing him 
— as he edged up to Flirtilla in the sinuous way of a 
necromancer going to work. Catching hold of the 
stirrup-leathers he fearlessly pulled himself up into 
the saddle, and with unawkward fingers adjusted the 
stirrups to his length. With a caressing movement 
he grasped the reins, and passing them through his 
fingers, asked: “How shall I take her.?” The mare, 
lowering her exalted head, began champing the bit 
playfully. 

“Wall, ef that don’t bang Banager!” commented 
the trainer ; “but business is business, and right you 
air, sonny, always ax orders. And this perticular 
time, ef you’ve got a neck ter spare, jest take that 
mar’ three times around the track fer all she’s worth 
— ter sorter settle that devil inside of her.” 

Like an old hand the boy settled himself in the 
saddle only slightly inclining his body forward ; after 
a joyous shake of the bridle his hands sunk to Flir- 
tilla’s withers, and like a bird she bounded away, and 
in three jumps was in a full run. The eyes of Col. 
Ware and those of the trainer were riveted on that 
rioting pair careening around the track, once, twice> 
thrice ; the mare then pulled up, come in with an easy 
swinging trot. 

“Where did you learn to ride, boy .?” demanded Col. 
Ware. 

“I ain’t never lamed yit. But dad said I had the 
makin’ of a rider in me — sometimes he’d let me canter 
a bit; but I ain’t never been on critter-back befo- 
jest now sence I los’ him,” answered the boy, putting 
52 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


his knuckles over his eyes to hide something unbidden 
that glistened there. 

“Don’t let that boy slip through your fingers, Col. 
Ware,” whispered the trainer. 

“What is your name, my lad.?” asked the pro- 
prietor. 

“Bob.” 

“Well, Bob, how would you like to engage with me 
for an exercise-boy.?” 

The shrewd look coming into the boy’s face made 
him look quite old — it was a momentous thing, this 
first business venture; but he attempted no shilly- 
shallying, and answered promptly: “That’s what I 
come fer — granny said I mought. I wan’t ter work 
ter make money ter take keer of her, ter git her 
things she needs. An’ mebby I mought have er 
chance fer some schoolin’ — granny is so sot on it” — 
adding, with a flush of pride, “my great-gran’-dad 
was er officer. I could git here by broke er day, but 
I mus’ stay with granny nights.” 

The bargain that was then concluded Col. Ware 
soon began to think was the bargain of his life. Be- 
sides Bob’s wonderful knack of getting on with the 
horses, he was truthful, honest, and industrious — 
ready to turn his hand to anything — with all so well 
behaved that he soon felt a genuine attachment for 
the boy, and spared him several hours each day to 
receive instruction from the tutor of his own chil- 
dren. 

Contentions between neighbors have existed since 
the world was new; but so long as it’s “hands off,” 
53 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


and exemption from the guilt of Cain, no harm is 
done; and the spirit of rivalry emulous for the best, 
is not to be discouraged, for it leads to excelsior. 

The claim made by the denizens of the North of 
having the most superior thoroughbred horses, was 
rampantly denied by the denizens of the South; and 
from this difference of opinion grew the ultimatum: 
“To put up, or shut up.” Therefore, frequent 
matches were made between the two sections. Oc- 
tober, 1822, Mr. J. J. Harrison, of Virginia, pub- 
licly offered to run Sir Charles against Eclipse, four 
mile heats, over the Washington course, for five or 
ten thousand dollars a side. 

The challenge was promptly accepted by Mr. Van 
Rast, who chose the large sum — half forfeit. The 
forfeit money was deposited by each gentleman, and 
the 20th day of the following November set for the 
contest. 

On the day and hour for starting. Eclipse and 
Sir Charles, riders mounted, appeared on the course; 
but Mr. Harrison announced that his horse had met 
with an accident, and he would pay forfeit. Though 
rather than the immense assemblage gathered should 
be entirely disappointed, he would run Sir Charles 
a single heat of four miles — fifteen hundred dollars 
a side. 

The offer was accepted, and the horses were 
started. Sir Charles broke down, leading, the last 
quarter of the last mile. A banter was then made 
by Col. W. R. Johnson, of Virginia, on May, 1823, 
to produce a horse to run four mile heats against 
Eclipse — twenty thousand dollars a side — over the 
54 } 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


Union Course, Long Island. There was a prompt 
acceptance. 

For this great stake the party of the South met 
with a series of disasters. In primus, John Richards, 
selected to run in the race, cut his foot. Washington, 
the second choice, was thrown out of training. The 
most signal misfortune of all was the sudden and 
violent illness of Col. Johnson, on whose management 
of the race success, in a great measure, depended. 
This gentleman was called the “Napoleon of the 
Turf.” He never lost a race when success was pos- 
sible, and by superior management frequently won 
when to win did not seem possible. 

On the eventful day, Betsey Richards and Sir 
Henry were both prepared ; but about half-past 
twelve Sir Henry appeared on the course, the cham- 
pion of the South. 

The concourse was immense — ^the stands crowded 
to excess — not less than sixty thousand people were 
computed to be in the field. 

The first heat Sir Henry, piloted by a young lad, 
led from the score, and beat Eclipse away ofP. He 
lost the second heat by the injudicious riding of the 
same lad. His rider was changed for the third heat ; 
but he was then no match for his older and stronger 
rival. Eclipse was powerfully made, and nine years 
old; while Sir Henry was under fifteen hands, and 
lacked almost two months of being a four-year-old. 

Before the closing of the day. Col. Johnson chal- 
lenged to run Sir Henry the ensuing autumn against 
Eclipse for any sum from twenty thousand to fifty 
thousand dollars. 


55 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


The challenge was refused. 

The Southerners at large were deeply chagrined 
by these repeated disappointments, and “to set mat- 
ters right,” became a sectional desire which burned 
vehemently in the heart and mind of Col. Ware. Of 
late, the pleasing hope had suggested itself that such 
an honor might be his — if — if — if Flirtilla could be 
brought to reason. But she was of the unfortunate 
sex proverbially inclined to unreason. Though it 
has no less gone into a proverb that feminine nature 
may be safely trusted to go to the most amazing 
length where the affections are concerned: witness 
the blackened eyes and bruised features that have, 
on a witness stand, so often confounded judge and 
jury and perverted the ends of justice, and Flirtilla’s 
fondness for her rider. Bob, was patent to any ob- 
server. It had been sudden, almost like the light- 
ning’s freak, but it was strong, and seemed to be 
without limit. 

To match Flirtilla against Ariel — daughter of 
Eclipse — ^then running like a meteor in the North, 
and confessedly at the head of the turf, took an in- 
sistent hold on the mind of Col. Ware. He longed 
passionately to defeat this thoroughbred queen on 
her own ground. Could he but pluck the laurels from 
the Northern Ariel, and bestow them upon the South- 
ern Flirtilla he felt that he would almost be willing 
to die. 

“Bob,” he propounded one day, “how would you 
like to go North and ride Flirtilla against Ariel.?” 
The boy’s face glowed, but became serious as he an- 
swered : 


56 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


“Our mare can beat anything without wings when 
she runs kind. And now she don’t get into her tan- 
trums near so often as she did — hardly ever unless 
something goes wrong with her. But she is high- 
strung and will have her own way ; though in a match 
it will be easy to let her run to suit herself. I could 
sleep in her stall with her to reconcile her to being 
away from home and among strangers. You know 
I’ll do my best.” 

It could be truly said of Bob that he had improved 
his opportunities ; uncouthness of language and man- 
ners had entirely disappeared, and he had become an 
inimitable rider. This was attributable, his employer 
thought, to the good blood in his veins. Col. Ware 
believed in blood as firmly as he believed in his God. 

“I do, my boy. And if Col. Johnson will agree 
to manage the race. I’ll banter for the match. And, 
hark-ee. Bob, if it pleases heaven to let us win, it will 
be five thousand for you.” 

“Five thousand for me 1” repeated the boy ; “why 
that means a good house, and going to the Warm 
Springs for grandmother” — ^he no longer said 
“granny.” 

Col. Ware smiled approvingly, and said: “Thor- 
oughbred.” 

The match was made — three mile heats, to be run 
over the Union Course, Long Island — ^twenty thou- 
sand dollars a side. To throw the helve after the 
hatchet. Col. Ware negotiated two small pieces of 
business — ^five thousand each. 

It was a great betting race. Many persons who 

57 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


had never previously indulged in such folly were now 
eager to back the favorite — a question of nativity. 

There was no fault to be found with 31st of Oc- 
tober, 1825 ; it was an ideal day — the sun shining 
warm and bright over the many thousands congre- 
gated from North and South to witness the sectional 
contest. The betting still went merrily on — no odds 
asked or given. 

At the sound of the bugle, one o’clock, every heart 
on the grounds throbs and bumps. There is no de- 
lay. “Saddle !” “Mount !” “Come up !” The drum 
tapped, and the partisan racers dash off, both hard 
held, the bay Flirtilla trailing close in the wake of 
her gray antagonist. Entering the second mile Bob, 
on Flirtilla, looked keenly at Col. Johnson, who 
ordered: “Take the track!” The bay mare, given 
her head, leaped forward and, as if by a single bound, 
was three lengths ahead of Ariel who, being called on, 
came rattling up, but try as she would, could not 
reach that phenomenon racing in her front. The 
third mile entered. Bob was ordered to : “Hold her 
steady, and let her go.” The rate kept up was tre- 
mendous ; at the last half Ariel was full twenty yards 
behind, then, then, as by magic, she came flying up — 
challenged Flirtilla — took the lead, all in a run of 
forty yards. In her surprise and displeasure, Flir- 
tilla stopped short. Her known disposition was re- 
sentful, never compounding an injury; she should, 
therefore, have shown her adversary her heels, if 
not given them to her. But the immortal gods alone 
can account for the vagaries of the female mind. A 
lonesome, homesick feeling coming over Flirtilla, she 
58 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


stuck out her two forelegs, and began nodding her 
head — evincing the most determined obstancy in her 
grief. Hot tears were in Bob’s eyes as he leaned over 
her neck caressing and imploring: “Oh, go on! go 
on, my beauty!” But her better feelings remaining 
untouched, she declined to budge a single step. At 
length, however, she was prevailed upon to get in mo- 
tion, and barely dropped within her distance. 

When taken to the cooling ground the indignation 
of her party knew no bounds, and though trained in 
a school to manage words the exaction was severe. 
But hard words break no bones, and to the storm of 
invectives the mare remained callous in the extreme, 
till Bob, putting his arms around her neck, burst into 
violent weeping, then she seemed touched, and lower- 
ing her handsome head, rubbed his face with her nose. 

Her spirits then rose rapidly, and at the proper 
time she trotted gaily to the post, and at the tap of 
the drum jumped right out in the lead, setting a kill- 
ing pace. Bob had been ordered to “let her run,” 
and she flew along, with her beautiful fairy -like stroke 
— her backers were jubilant — till within twenty-five 
yards of the winning post, then, alack and alas ! with- 
out premonition, again the horrible homesickness be- 
gan to gnaw at her vitals, and overcome by grief she 
stopped short. “Go on, lady ! Oh, go on !” pleaded 
Bob. And if ever there were tears in anyone’s voice 
the limpid fluid was then in Bob’s. “Kill me if you 
like afterward, my darling, but win this race.” 

The rider who on Ariel had lost all hope of winning 
the heat, and only praying to be able to save his dis- 
tance, seeing that something in his front was amiss, 
59 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


with whip and spurs brought Ariel up with racing 
speed, and she seemed like a winner. Only at the last 
moment Flirtilla, commiserating Bob’s agony, moved 
languidly up, winning the heat by a scant head. 

When starting for the third and decisive heat Flir- 
tilla was in high fettle, as joyous and frisky as if 
she had never known ill-humor or despondency in her 
life, and racing away with her fleet, tireless feet, win- 
ning the race easily by one hundred yards. 

A wild roar burst from the jubilant Southerners. 
“Hurrah! hurrah!” shouted Col. Ware, “honors are 
easy.” 

But you had a tight squeak for it,” answered a 
Northern turfman. 


60 


V. 


THE MEXICAN EMPIRE STEEPLECHASE, OWNERS UP. 

Once upon a time, in mid-summer, a king’s favorite 
expressed the wish for a sleigh-ride, and mirabele 
dicta! the following day’s rising sun disclosed miles 
of the principal drives of the city of Paris white 
with sugar and salt to simulate snow. 

A transformation as wonderful was wrought in 
that fair landscape in the vicinity of the old city of 
Teuschititlan, the metropolis of the Astec empire — 
now called Mexico City — midway between the At- 
lantic and the Pacific and on the summit of the Cor- 
dilleras, and secluded from the outer world by a 
mountain barrier. 

Southward and eastward, rising in their eternal 
glory, are the ever snow-crowned Popocatepetl and 
Iztaccihuatl — the “White Lady.” 

With the backing of the Imperial will and un- 
limited French money a course had been constructed 
to meet the requirements, in the most approved way, 
for the running of the Mexican Empire Steeplechase 
— a race in which Maximilian and Carlotta had shown 
much interest, affording as it would diversion for 
the many army officers and the distinguished visitors 
from many countries. 

Ditches had been dug, fences erected, embankments 

61 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


thrown up, all more or less difficult to negotiate with 
four miles of running. Of the thirty jumps and 
leaps the most formidable is the “big double” before 
the final run in. 

To witness this contest, for gentlemen jockeys 
only, besides those who had arrived in saddle and on 
wheels there is a great affluence of pedestrians. On 
the sunny side — abandoned to the proletarian — ^has 
gathered a mottled throng of divers nationalities, and 
gathered in great force are the mestizos to see the 
show, and to indulge in their racial craze for gaming. 

In the center of the grand stand erected for the 
aristocracy is the Imperial box, draped in red, white 
and green, and surmounted by the shield of Mexico. 

With punctillious politeness their Imperial Majes- 
ties had arrived early, preceded, of course, by the 
elite of city and country. And a French chasseur in 
hot haste enters the royal box — ^his mission is too 
exirgeante for ceremony — and addressing the Em- 
press, said: “I have marked your Majesty’s card. 
From the best information I have been able to obtain, 
the winner will be one of the four to start — St. 
George, Beelzabub, Star of Empire and Belladonna. 
The mare can min if she will, and I have backed her 
heavily. But she has oddities. So, to be safe, I 
have put a few doubloons on Star of Empire. I 
know his breeding — he goes straight back to the 
Darley Arabian. Now which of these horses will be 
honored by your Majesty’s commission.?” 

She answered: “Put ten doubloons for me on Beel- 
zabub — his name is potential.” 

“Yes,” conceded the officer, “he is a good horse, 

62 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


and it would be a safe investment, only, as your 
Majesty is aware, owners are up, and Beelzabub will 
have no better pilot than the Honorable James Wil- 
liam Balfour — that torpid Englishman — never more 
than half awake.” 

“No obstante,''* replied the Empress; “I’ll hold to 
my choice. Providentially Mr. Balfour may for once 
wake up. Or, perhaps, the good horse may run 
away with him.” 

The French officer darts away, and in a short time 
a bell rings, and the numbers go up — one, two, three, 
four, five, and so on, up to twenty-three.” 

“My!” exclaimed the Emperor, “what a field of 
horses, and we shall have sport.” 

A mighty roar bursts from ten thousand throats 
as more than a score of the best horses in the world, 
ridden by the best riders in the world, are being 
brought to the start. 

First to come is Belladonna, fine as a star. With 
exclamations of delight thousands of field-glasses are 
turned toward the beauty. She is indeed, perfection 
of form. Her sloping shoulders, deep girth, flat 
legs, round flinty feet, full well-turned back, and 
mighty quarters denote speed unqualified, and stay- 
ing powers without limit. Such is the goodly out- 
side, but her inner-self is sadly marred by temper, 
moods and freaks such as were never even dreamed of 
by any other horse, of either sex. And withal, she 
is absolutely defiant of control. Of this no one is 
half so well aware as her owner. Count Cugner. But, 
with some men the love of a good horse is the ruling 
63 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


passion, and who will, despite adversities, cling to 
hope as the guiding star. 

Before springing to saddle, instinctively the Mag- 
yar threw a quick, anxious glance to mark the por- 
tent of Belladonna’s expressive eyes. But those orbs 
are modestly cast down, and she stands without mo- 
tion save for a rippling quiver under her glossy 
sides. Superficially there is a promise of peace, but 
Count Cugner’s heart sinks; too well he knows of 
the deceitful calm so often before a raging tempest. 
But not to throw a chance away, he resorts to sooth- 
ing methods; and gently patting her curving neck, 
in endearing accents he murmurs: ‘‘Soh! Soh! lady. 
Beautiful one!” 

The ‘‘beautiful one,” however, turns a deaf ear to 
cajoleries, and gives her undivided attention to her 
gathering field. She shakes her head disapprovingly 
at a great raking chestnut horse that comes tearing 
into line like a steam engine, but otherwise makes no 
hostile demonstrations to others of her competitors 
till St. George, a very handsome bay horse, comes 
trotting along very gently to take his place. Him 
she regards with an instantaneous and unfounded dis- 
like so intense that she rushes toward him with set 
teeth. 

To preserve the precious harmony, so requisite to 
the occasion, St. George adroitly allows an advanc- 
ing brown horse of massive proportions to intervene. 
Belladonna’s conduct now becomes atrocious. No 
horse ever bom was ever so disagreeable. 

“Get a gun and shoot the brute !” shouted an angry 
gendarme. 


64 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


At this crucial moment a lightning-like change 
takes place in Belladonna’s versatile mind, and drop- 
ping her evil courses, comes gaily on with that 
jaunty, easy, swinging gait — horsemen so admire — 
to take her place beside Star of Empire. To this 
horse she experiences a sudden liking, and in exub- 
erant spirits rubs her pretty face against his puis- 
sant shoulder. But the time is too short for frivoli- 
ties. The flag drops, and the great field of horses 
off, a flashing kaleidescope of colors. Star of Empire 
and Belladonna bounded off in the lead, racing side 
by side, the field well up — all but one laggard. 

Such a number of magnificent horses had never 
before met in a race, and never before had a steeple- 
chase been run so fast. On a downward lie of the 
course, leading to a fourteen-foot ditch, the going 
is fifty miles an hour. Star of Empire, running hke 
mad, takes the leap in his stride. Belladonna bounded 
over like a deer leading, with her four hoofs bunched 
cat-like in a cluster, and the pair race on neck and 
neck. One bay horse, with spots all over him like a 
circus horse, refused the leap, but his rider’s strength 
of hands and will prevailed, and the animal, making 
his eflrort too late, crashing against the farther bank, 
goes down. Horse and rider scramble up separately, 
but the rider has never let go the bridle-reins, and 
with foot in stirrup swings up to saddle, and assays 
to go on; horse and man are sick and dizzy, and 
soon fall back definitely and finally out of the race. 
With this exception, the other racers cleverly sur- 
mount the ditch and continue the running at a pace 
too good to keep, and drop back by twos and threes. 
65 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


Last of all is Beelzabub, hard held, rebellious, and 
fighting for his head, but he has never been able to 
get away one hair-breadth from the iron hands that 
have never left his withers. The Honorable Mr. Bal- 
four has planned how to win the race, and so far 
nothing has occurred to disturb his plans, and he is 
riding patiently and well, intently watching the two 
leaders. The Star of Empire and Belladonna are 
racing as one, still very fast, though the horse be- 
gins to show fatigue, while the nonpariel at his side 
is flying along like a bird. 

Count Cugner’s heart gives a joyful bound. He 
feels that the race is his, and he can scarcely refrain 
from shouting — shouts before victory are portentous. 
Just then, by an ambition that over-leaps itself, St. 
George felt throbbing within the nobler part of him- 
self an unconquerable impulse to be the leading horse, 
and collecting all his powers for a desperate effort, 
comes rapidly up and challenges Belladonna without 
counting the cost of his temerity. The infuriated 
mare seized his bridle-bit with a savage energy that 
almost broke his jaw. Her vengeance not satisfied, 
wheeling, she used her heels like a cyclone. 

In the veins of poor St. George there must have 
run a doubtful and contaminating cross to account 
for his cowardice. Without an effort to defend him- 
self he turned and fled — a roar of contumely follow- 
ing the unfortunate horse. 

After the indulgence of so much wickedness, Bella- 
donna, incited by a latent instinct of virtue, rushed 
on, meaning to win the race. And so she would 
66 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


have done — Star of Empire had shot his bolt — and 
it were easy to pass him. But there was a big bay 
horse, with star and one white foot, coming up from 
behind so furiously. His head liberated, he comes 
on and passes Belladonna like a thunderbolt, and 
runs on, and on. Nearing the ‘‘big double,” his blood 
is up — ^the best blood of England — and tearing at it 
like a wild horse, leaped over, covering eleven good 
yards, and keeps on, his career unchecked, when 
something happened that never occurred on a race 
course before. So absorbing was the interest in the 
race that an eager crowd had been allowed to en- 
croach dangerously upon the course, and a mertizo, 
whose every claco is on Belladonna, and wholly 
frenzied seeing Beelzabub coming first, with unspeak- 
able brutality seized his mager, by his side, and with 
all his might threw the woman in front of the advanc- 
ing horse, fully extended. 

To most men this would have been a poser, but 
not for an infinitesimal part of a second did the Hon- 
orable Balfour lose his nerve. He tightened his 
grasp on Beelzabub’s reins, and lifting the horse’s 
head, jumped fairly over the prostrate woman, who 
at once raised the cry : “I am killed !” Beelzabub was 
carried on without pause till pulled up winner of the 
Mexican Empire Steeplechase ; Belladonna second. 
If ever she had a chance to win it was flittered away 
by the indulgence of her unfortunate temper; but, 
without doubt, she had made a beautiful run, and 
when pulled up, in a spirit of excessive self-esteem, 
feeling that she had lost the race by no fault of hers, 

67 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


but through one of the unavoidable accidents of life, 
she cantered gaily back to the judges’ stand, and 
looking up at the gentlemen with such a confident, 
bewitching air, she was applauded beyond her deserts. 

The affair of the scales concluded, the Honorable 
James William Balfour, still in silk and leathers, and 
retaining his whip, and deftly avoiding congratula- 
tions, and with marked less languor than usual, made 
his way back to the Mestiza woman, who by now is 
on her feet and surrounded by sympathizing amigas, 
and screaming loudly: “I’m dead!” Her scowling 
husband, who is lounging near and concerned only 
for his lost clacos, is indifferent to her wailing — not 
even glancing toward her. By the Honorable Mr. 
Balfour he is seized and jerked to an open space for 
the unobstructed application of the old-fashion im- 
plement in hand — all listlessness for the time in 
abeyance. 

The Mestizo man howled, writhed, shrieked and 
struggled ; but he could just as easily have got away 
from an embedded sheet anchor as from that small, 
sinewy, detaining hand. 

The Mestiza woman ceased her screams as if by, 
magic, and throwing herself on her knees, implored 
mercy for her unworthy spouse so abjectly as to ex- 
cite the ire of a stalwart woman of Irish descent, who 
was constrained to urge pursuasively : “If ’twas me 
I’d have the liver out of the spalpeen who struck 
me marn I” 

The Mestiza wife only redoubled her pleadings, 
and to add greater force, declared that she had thrown 
68 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


herself in front of the horse of her own accord. 
Whereupon the Honorable Mr. Balfour smiled feebly 
while murmuring the Moorish proverb: 

“A woman, a dog, and a walnut tree. 

The more you beat them the better they be.” 


69 


VI. 


MY KINGDOM IS NOT OF THIS WORLD. 

The little city was named Inland, and from it, in 
every direction, stretched the richest and most gra- 
cious soil of the beautiful Blue Grass region of Ken- 
tucky — ^the state of states, and the pearl of the 
Union. Here was the home of wealth and cultured 
refinement. First settled by Virginians whose fore- 
bears had come from the Mother Country, bringing 
with them from over the seas the love of the thor- 
oughbred horse. 

The sport of kings had not, however, successfully 
held its own without grave vicissitudes ; for, in com- 
mon with all mundane aflPairs, it is inseparably con- 
nected with abuses. Still, every fair-minded person 
must concede that it is a fine, manly, outdoor, public 
pastime, eminently adapted for a national amusement. 

Of course, then. Inland had its race-course, and it 
was well patronized, although in the community there 
existed a somewhat strong feeling adverse to racing. 
There always have been, since history began, and will 
continue to be till futurity ends, people who are not 
satisfied with letting well enough alone, and are a 
disturbing element, by their efforts to convert this 
lower sphere into Utopia. Let them go on and 
succeed if they can, but it will end the business of 
life and bring on eternity. 

70 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


The agitators received colossal support from the 
minister of one of the largest congregations, who had 
lately come among them. 

He was of small stature — but that does not count 
against him — some of earth’s greatest heroes have 
been of insignificant size — austere in habits, of sin- 
cere, earnest piety, and great kindliness of heart. 
From his arrival he headed the crusade against rac- 
ing, with its corollary of vices: gambling, drinking, 
general demoralization, and, worse than all, its cor- 
rupting tendency of the youth. But not making 
headway commensurate with his wishes, he determined 
to let loose the thunders of his church. A race meet- 
ing being near at hand, and one particular race 
exciting unusual interest on account of the number 
and celebrity of the horses engaged, he made the an- 
nouncement from his pulpit of his intention to with- 
hold the communion from such members of his church 
as should attend the races. 

This attitude was regarded by the zealots with 
high favor. Others — liberal Christians — deemed it 
a stretch of his authority — a muzzling of the ox that 
treads the corn — and savoring of the practice of 
the Romanist clergy; taking entire charge of the 
consciences of the people, intolerant of private Bibli- 
cal interpretation. No little argumentation ensued, 
and some of the influential members went in a body 
to reason with their minister on the inadvisability of 
the position taken by him, and that, in the opinion 
of many, he had out-stepped established boundaries. 

He was inflexible. ‘T am here,” he said, “the 
shepherd of my flock ; and no position is so false as 

71 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


the position which entails responsibility without con- 
ferring authority; and by the wisest of mankind, our 
present state of existence is thought to be one of 
preparation ; severe perhaps, but necessary for a 
loftier and less material state of existence. I can- 
not endure lukewarmness. I have the irrefragable 
dictum: ‘He who is not for me is against me.’ ‘You 
cannot touch pitch and remain undefiled.’ ‘Thou 
shalt not touch, taste, nor handle the unclean thing.’ 
Thus I am taught, and thus is my belief, and I will 
hold fast to my principles. It pains me to be at 
variance with any of my people, but there is no al- 
ternative. I must perform my duty as I see it — 
always looking upward to the Immaculate One for 
guidance.” 

The church-members accomplished nothing by their 
mission; but they went away convinced that, though 
their minister might be a bigot, and narrow-minded, 
but he was an honest man, and a Christian, and 
thoroughly in earnest ; but whether sent to them as a 
blessing or a chastisement from the Over-Ruling 
power, time would show. 

It is unfortunate when rectitude of purpose fails 
in giving repose to heart and mind. The minister 
was sorely troubled by the widely diverging views of 
his congregation. To reconcile and unite the oppos- 
ing factions he feared would require a miracle — and 
the days of miracles were past ; although there some- 
times did occur a miraculous reversion of sentiments, 
such as he now prayed for. 

Time passed, and so perturbed in spirit was the 
minister that he determined on a solitary walk in the 
72 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


suburbs communing with holy Nature, whose voice is 
popularly supposed never to mislead or to plead in 
vain. Yes, the landscape is fair enough under the 
glowing sun; it all seemed so strangely alluring, so 
mystical and wonderful — the golden clouds floating 
in an atmosphere of cry st aline blue hazes. ‘‘So 
peaceful,” he murmured, “the very gateway of 
Heaven.” Ah! minister, do you not know that is 
only to the eye of man, that there is calm and peace 
in the nether heavens, where suns blaze, and comets 
whirl, and that no shots from cannon fly as do the 
planets fly.^ And have you yet to learn that on this 
earth we inhabit there is no peace And have you 
forgotten that even after the Israelites — Jehovah’s 
chosen people — ^had crossed dry-shod over Jordan, 
there was no peace: Caleb, the son of Jephanneh, 
claimed Hebron for his inheritance, although it ne- 
cessitated driving out the Anakims, the race of 
giants, by force of arms.^^ 

In our days, we can hardly expect better times, and 
should prepare, as best we may, to take the rough 
with the smooth. 

The minister’s thoughts, having soared upward to 
the congenial realm of altruism, it was a rude de- 
scent in store for him. Coming from a small cottage 
were distressing sounds of sobbing, imperious words, 
and entreaties. A physician standing in the open 
doorway said: “Come in, minister, and talk to Jim. 
Maybe he will listen to you — he won’t hear us — and 
it is a matter of life or death.” 

A sick man, a very sick man, half-risen in a bed, 
was struggling with a weeping woman, and a couple 
73 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


of small children, using all their strength to with- 
hold the husband and father from rising and clothing 
himself, as he was endeavoring to do. 

“Minister,” said the doctor, “this is Jim Sedley, 
a race rider. He’s been down with a fever, and to- 
day is terribly worse, but says he will get up to look 
after his horse. He owns Wade Hampton, and was 
to ride him in a race to-morrow; but he would be a 
dead man before he could get to the race-track. And 
I am going to turn him over to you. I can’t do any- 
thing with him ! I wash my hands of him. There are 
other sick people who need me, whom I have a chance 
to help.” 

He walked quickly away. 

The minister approached the bed, and laying his 
hand on the race rider’s shoulder said : 

“Will you not try to compose yourself and listen 
to a few words from me.f^” 

James Sedley, with an effort to become quiet, 
turned a lowering and sullen brow to the newcomer; 
“Well, what have you got to say?” 

“Only this,” replied the minister, in his gentle 
voice, “you are very ill, and it is my duty to ask, 
have you ever thought that you have a soul to save ?” 

The man growled: “Jest now I am thinkin’ a sight 
more about winnin’ that race ter-morrer than about 
savin’ my soul, which ain’t in any wus fix than the 
souls of a good many others.” 

“That is too true,” said the minister, sighing, 
“your calling with its corruptions and tempta- 
tions ” 

“See here, parson,” interrupted the jockey, roughly, 

74 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


“ef you want me ter listen ter your pallaver, listen 
fust ter mine. It’s not everybody that kin ride ter 
Heaven in a C-spring shay; but it is every pore 
body’s job to earn his own livin’. I never had no 
schoolin’, and bein’ wantin’ in heft for contract work, 
and not wantin’ ter steal, I had ter do what I could. 
I ride honest. Jim Sedley has never been accused of 
throwin’ off a race. I do cuss, but that’s a light 
fault in a good man. So did the apostle Peter, as 
I have hearn tell about ; but nobody ever catched me 
denyin’ my Lord and Master; though I haven’t paid 
as much attention to him as I would have done ef I 
had more time. And, I do bet, but I hold that every 
man has a right ter do that, ef he acts on the square 
— and it is mighty amusin’ when a chap comes along 
makin’ out he knows it all, and don’t know nothin’, 
ter tell him ter put up, or shet up, and arterwards 
ter rake in his coin — a heap of them fellers has got 
more money than gumption. And I do drink — some- 
times — of necessity — when I’m reducin’ ; thar’s whar 
the liquor craze comes on. As fer temptations What 
do you know about temptations.? Have you gone 
hungry fer days, weeks, and months, never knowin’ 
what it was ter have a full meal, and your insides 
doublin’ and twistin’, and tormentin’ you, and your 
head light as a cork; then have ter pull yourself to- 
gether for all you’re worth, to ride all sorts of horses 
— riskin’ your life in every race you ride? 

‘T allow that whiles some jocks start fair enough, 
graderly they fall into bad company and willainous 
ways; but them sort is soon found out, and they 
can’t git a decent mount. 

75 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


“I’ve been honest from boy to man, and done well 
at it; but bein’ a jockey did not bender me from 
wantin’ Molly and a home — though a race-rider ain’t 
got no right ter sech — but we’ve loved each other — 
haven’t we, Molly — and the babies?” 

The woman, whose arms had never left his neck, 
tightened her grasp, now burst into violent weeping. 

“Don’t cry, Molly,” said her husband ; “it worries 
me. And I must nurse my strength for what I’ve 
got to do ter-morrow^” Turning his eyes, which had 
rested on his wdfe, toward the minister, he continued : 
“We couldn’t er bin happier ef we had been rich. 
But bein’ pore it has bin hard scufflin’ — the babies 
weakly, and Molly worn ter a frazzle from over-work. 
And ter make matters wus, I got ter havin’ quarish 
feelin’s as ef I might drap off any time. The house 
is paid for — it ain’t much, but it keeps off the rain. 
But how ter leave Molly with a few dollars pestered 
me lots till I thought I seed my way when I got Wade 
Hampton. He was a good race-horse, but unprin- 
cipled, and sometimes acted ridiculas. His owner 
got so out-done with him at Newor-leans, when the 
horse, winning in er canter, stopped short, not mor’n 
a yard from the post, ter nibble at a bunch of grass 
he seed. It showed great w^ant of judgment; howso- 
ever, I got him cheap. And somehow the critter took 
a likin’ ter me, and has behaved his-self so well, that 
I had confi-dence in him, and put him in that race 
that’s goin’ ter be run ter-morrow, and backed him 
for every cent I could raise in the world. The house 
is mortgaged and every stick in it. I must ride in 
that race to-morrow. To win, and leave Molly and 
76 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


the babies with a shelter over their heads, and above 
starvation, I am willin’ ter die. I must ride.” His 
ejes, glued to the minister’s, had in them the look of 
a wounded wild animal when he turns at bay. 

The minister shook his head. 

A tear glistened in Jim’s eyes — the first since child- 
hood — as he tenderly fondled Molly’s hand. “I must 
ride,” he repeated. “I will die, Molly, tryin’ ter fend 
for you and the babies.” 

‘‘Oh, no ! no! no!” cried the woman. “I am strong, 
Jim, and can work for you and the children.” Her 
white, thin face utterly contradicted the statement. 

The minister, whose compassion was easily roused 
by sights and sounds of human woe, felt a great pity, 
as the sick jockey began his story, his voice faint, 
sometimes almost inarticulate; but with the strength 
of will that had in his profession so often triumphed 
over bodily weakness, he kept on till he had had his 
say. But as the story went on, and the minister 
listened, there was a strange resurrection. Memories 
that had withered and died from shame years ago, 
stirred uneasily, came to life, vivid and strong. His 
countenance changed, its serene expression giving 
place to eager excitement. His temples throbbed! 
The hot blood galloped through his veins. 

“Jim, do you remember Larry Mason.?” 

“Of course I do. He was the best rider that ever 
was on the earth. But something must have hap- 
pened him. He disappeared all at once. Oh ! it was 
grand the way he handled his mount. Lookin’ at 
him, the people would go wild, and nearly split their 
throats hollerin’.” 


77 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


The minister’s face flushed. His eyes brightened. 
In a moment the work of years was undone. At a 
moment’s notice an old passion had returned, and 
grappled him by the throat. It would have been as 
easy to escape from the entwining folds of a boa- 
constrictor. He was mad to be again in the saddle ; 
to feel the fleet bounding of a good horse under him ; 
to hear again the frenzied roar of applause. “Jim, 
I am Larry Mason. I will ride your horse.” 

The sick jockey started up in bed crying: “Saved! 
Saved! Saved! That beats all I ever heard of. 
Molly, you and the children flop down on your knees 
and kiss his boots. I wish I could shout glory, halle- 
lujah !” 

The minister looked bewildered, frightened. He 
had spoken in an ungovernable outburst of momen- 
tary insanity, which passed away quickly as it had 
come; the promptings of that Spirit of Evil, ever 
roaming, seeking whom he may devour, and ever 
ready to spring upon his prey. “Oh! what have I 
done ? Oh ! what have I done ?” he cried piteously. 

“You have promised to ride my horse in his race 
ter-morrow,” said James Sedley bluntly. 

The minister writhed as under torture. 

“It is not possible, James. It is not possible.” 

“It is posserble,” affirmed the sick man — a set ex- 
pression on his face — “you promised, and I will hold 
you to your promise. I begin ter think,” he added, 
speaking with a brutality he would not have used in 
speaking to the lowest stable-boy, “that turnin’ par- 
son has turned Larry Mason inter a mean, cowardly 
sneak. But, you have got some of the looks of a 
78 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


man about you yet, and I don’t suppose you’ll clean 
go back on your word, arter promisin’, volunteer.” 

“Don’t, don’t, talk that way, James. But I can’t. 
Think of the scandal and the injury to my church.” 

“I ain’t thinking erbout anything but Molly and 
the childern.” 

“James,” pleaded the minister, “so soon as I am 
able, I will make good to your family the loss of the 
race.” 

“A bird in hand is worth two in the bush. And ef 
you lie now ter me, a dyin’ man, it will be jest as easy 
as failin’ off a log for you to lie to Molly and the 
childern. I will hold you ter your promise — ^your 
promise — your promise.” The minister had covered 
his face with his hands — his breast heaving — and the 
great tears rolling down through his fingers. Unre- 
lenting, James Sedley went on: “I don’t suppose it 
will be easy, the way you take it. But, in my opinion, 
the better sort of people will think none the wus of 
you for stickin’ ter your word, and ridin’ the horse 
like a man. Look at Molly, scursely able ter stand, 
and them puny childern. Do you think Old Master 
will be hard on you for helpin’ them.^ You kin do 
that much good, ef you never do any more.” In the 
intensity of his feelings the sick man, who had pulled 
himself up on his elbow, now, from exhaustion, 
dropped back to his pillow, his eyes fixed upon the 
cowering minister with the same fatal glare cast by a 
pair of glittering eyes through a bush on the flutter- 
ing bird, powerless to escape. 

The minister, feeling utterly undone, helpless, and 
a mark for the opprobrium of all the world, and for 

79 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


divine vengeance, in a blinded way, groped to the 
window, leaning out, choking. He was a good man 
and a devout Christian, but not the first, nor yet the 
last, devout Christian that will fall into a snare in- 
siduously prepared for his tempting by the enemy of 
mankind. 

As was said ages ago, in the direst case, it is better 
to fall into the hands of God than into the hands of 
man. So the minister, raising his eyes, prayed from 
his heart to the Mighty One, who alone can bring 
good out of evil, and will never fail or forsake any 
who cry to Him in their distress. To the minister’s 
stricken mind there appeared the vision of Jacob, who 
saw a ladder reaching from earth to Heaven, and the 
angels of God ascending and descending, and he felt 
comforted, as from an assurance given t hat in his 
bitter trial he would be sustained, and that in some 
miraculous way good would come out of the evil. 

With no longer bowed head, but standing upright, 
he repeated the declaration : 

James, I will ride your horse, 

“You are a good sort,” said the sick man, “and I 
take back them hard words I said to you. And arter 
you have done this thing for Molly and the babies, I 
will be easy in my mind, and ef you think it worth 
while, you can try your hand at savin’ my soul — ^you 
might do somethin’ at it — ther’s lots wus men than 
me.” 

The warm sun was shining down with dazzling 
brilliancy over the race-course, thronged with an 
exhilarated multitude. The news had come that Jim 
80 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


Sedley was too ill to ride his horse. On the pro- 
gramme Wade Hampton was colored to start — but 
a represented his jockey’s name. 

The bell rings and the horses appear on the track ; 
last to come was the minister on Wade Hampton. 
Hitherto he had zealously avoided observation; but 
precautions were bootless now. Apparent to all be- 
holders, among the jockeys, was the minister in the 
saddle. 

Had the earth opened a yawning chasm, or had a 
flaming chariot and horseman appeared in the sky, 
the astonishment could not have been greater. 

The multitude was stricken dumb ; there was a dead 
silence. Then burst forth a storm, a tempest, of de- 
risive howls and hisses. 

The minister had declined to put on the jockey 
clothes, nor would he wear his clerical attire, but was 
clad in a closely fitting suit of dark gray. 

As the roar of contumely fell upon his ear his face 
flamed scarlet, but instantly paled to a dull opaque 
white. 

The comments were innumerable, principally to the 
effect that he had “lost his senses,” “gone crazy,” or 
“had been a wolf in sheep’s clothing.” Others, ob- 
serving more closely, marked the expression on his 
face of patient suffering and steady resolve; such as 
is often seen when standing at the side of a wounded 
soldier after the surgeon’s knife has gone through 
nerve and bone ; or seen in the Dark Ages on the face 
of a martyr chained to the stake. And though ap- 
pearances were all against him, yet they would sus- 
pend judgment, and give him the opportunity of 
81 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


speaking for himself, of explaining. But what ex- 
planation could he make? And to add to the obloquy 
he did not sit his horse like a novice, but like a well- 
trained, professional rider. 

The rabble is a dangerous animal when let loose; 
and the discontent rapidly changed to savage anger ; 
loud voices shouted: “It’s a shame.” “An infernal 
shame.” “Knock him off his horse! Beat him to 
death — ^the shameless hound!” 

“No, you don’t,” sung out Jake Stoner, who, by 
universal acquiescence, was dubbed “a hard party.” 
He could drink more whiskey and use worse language 
than any of his compeers. But also he had the repu- 
tation of being able to fight his way through wild 
cats, and was respected accordingly. Waving a pon- 
derous hickory stick aloft, he shouted in a ringing 
voice: “I have done took that thar parson under my 
protection, and any body that hits him, hits me. It 
ain’t common, but ef the parson wants ter ride, he 
shill ride.” 

“Look at him,” he muttered to himself. “In my 
opinion, he ain’t ridin’ in the natural course of events, 
but for some secret, under-ground purpose, unbe- 
known, and ter help somebody — mebby it’s ter take 
pore Jim’s place — I’m glad I thought of that, and 
and I’ll back him,” and he began shouting in a sten- 
torian voice : “Any even money on the parson’s 
mount !” 

The race, a three-mile dash, had filled well — no less 
than nine starters. It was conceded to be Wade 
Hampton’s race if he would run — but, if he would, 
was known only to the saints above. Leaving him 
82 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


out as an unknown quantity, narrowed the probable 
winners down to two, Princeton and Lady Jane. 
However, two of the other starters were destined to 
play an important part in the race. To give a clearer 
understanding, it is well to give the names of the 
jockeys who were to pilot them — Sam Hifney and 
Pete Mosure — a pair of very black sheep. 

The minister having fought out the hardest battle 
of his life, and retreated behind the strong defences 
of an arm that is not of flesh, was enabled to see 
things by the light of an inward faith, leaving things 
of earth in the shadow. But, oh ! how hard it was to 
line up for the start in that heterogeneous company. 

Two or three false starts are made, by the instru- 
mentality of the above mentioned black sheep, to ef- 
fect a whispered and hurried conference. “Pete,” 
said Sam Hifney, “when I heam that Jim was sick, 
and couldn’t ride his horse, I plunged on Princeton, 
and piling money agin’ Hampton. But look at that 
parson; he sets his mount like an old jock of the first 
water. The minute I seed him layin’ leg over horse, 
I knowed I had blundered. And ef you will jine in 
with me ter keep him back. I’ll go halves with you.” 

“NufF said,” was the concise and comprehensive 
answer. 

When the drum tapped, Princeton, a great raking 
chestnut, comes tearing along in the lead, pulling 
like a steam engine. Lady J ane, neat as a pink, and 
game as a pebble, is next to follow with her dainty, 
swinging gait, every foot-print planted accurately in 
place. Other horses crowd up; their points are not 
exceptionally good, but from sheer condition would 
83 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


be safe for place did not their jockeys err principally 
in not knowing how to wait, and in making the run- 
ning too strong at first. 

The minister, not to throw a chance away, en- 
deavored to get off in a good position, but was kept 
back, last of all, by a pair of coarse-looking brown 
horses. If he made a move to come up on the right, 
these horses met to shut him out. Then, at the risk 
of rousing Wade Hampton’s temper, and certainly 
losing ground, he essayed to pass on the left, only 
to be again foiled by that brown barricade. He then 
made a last effort to pass through the center. But 
it was all the same, the brown horses held him back, 
keeping him virtually not in the race. 

But there is one backer who has not lost heart, and 
the ringing tones peal out : “Any even money on the 
parson’s mount!” 

A race without noise does not meet requirements 
and the scattered murmurs at the stand deepen into 
concentrated cheering; wild, louder and wilder be- 
comes the roar of the ring. 

Two of the three miles have been run. The brown 
couple, with no other business in the race than in de- 
taining Wade Hampton, are doing their work well. 
Entering the third mile. Lady Jane, darting past 
Princeton, shoots to the front, the ring yelling and 
howling like mad : “The Lady wins I” “It’s the 
Lady’s race!” Twice Princeton comes up to her 
girth, but she slips away from him. Still that ring- 
ing voice is heard above the clamor : “Any even money 
on the parson’s mount!” 

The minister’s pallor has deepened into a yellowish 

84 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


tinge; he is feeling ill from the hopelessness of the 
situation. It would be too dreadful not to win, after 
all he has suffered — the sin and disgrace. Not to 
win after the price he has paid ! And the price he has 
yet to pay ! Great beads of sweat stand on his fore- 
head, and his heart leaped in an agonized cry for 
help to Him who marks the sparrow’s fall. It would 
seem that his prayer had penetrated the Heavens and 
brought relief. Sam Hifney, very much excited by 
the aspect in front, turned his head to watch the 
minister. In some way — no one ever knows exactly 
how such things happen — he bumped against the 
mount of his evil companion, and horses and men 
go down together in a heap. 

Sam Hifner lay on the track with a broken collar- 
bone. His misused horse, with ruptured tendon, made 
ineffectual efforts to rise. Pete Mosure and the 
brown quadruped scramble up simultaneously and 
separately. “Mount, you duflPer!” screams Sam, 
“and after the parson! Cut him down!” 

The opening had been made, and Wade Hampton 
was then striding along in magnificent form, hard 
held, a subtle understanding existing between horse 
and rider, and the dumb animal promised to do his 
best. 

A fearful gap stretched between him and that non- 
pareil racing in the lead ; it did not seem possible for 
anything without wings to overtake her. 

The yells and screams of the people baffle descrip- 
tion. Still, high above all, rings out: “Any even 
money on the parson’s mount.” 

Gradually, inch by inch, Wade Hampton was 

85 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


brought on till within six hundred yards of the win- 
ning post — the limit to the powers of the best horse 
when fully extended at the top of his rate — then, 
given his head, he rushed along like a whirlwind. 

With interest so intense that it is painful the mul- 
titude watch the bay horse, with star and white hind 
foot — Princeton is passed — the mare reached. She is 
game, and runs on. But Wade Hampton runs the 
longest, and wins the race. 

Sunday has come, and the people go to church. 
Though the minister has not been seen since the race, 
no one has been so much talked about : “What would 
he do.?” “Would he come to church.?” “Would he 
attempt to preach.?” 

In a conference, holden outside the edifice, it is 
the concurring sentiment that should he attempt to 
preach he should not be allowed to do so. It would 
be an insult to the people and profane to God. 

Jake Stoner is not a church member, far from it. 
He listened, without an attempt to conceal his im- 
patience, till the decision had been made, and pub- 
licly announced. Then Jake is heard from. “I 
know,” he said, in elevated tones, “I am votin’ out- 
side my precinct, but that thar parson has, in my 
opinion, got more of the ginnywine, true religion in 
his little finger than a forty-acre field full of the rest 
of you. In my opinion, he’s got a good reason for 
what he’s done; and ef you give him a fair bearin’ 
you-all will feel p’int-blank ashamed of yourselves 
for talkin’ agin him. Here he comes now, and ef he 
wants ter preach, he shill preach, or there’ll be some 
86 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


pretty tall argufyin’ with these two fists of mine.” 

More than the eloquence of Jake Stoner, the ap- 
pearance of the minister disarmed opposition. 

He walked with a firm step, but with head bowed 
down as from deep grief, as he passed through the 
people, who opened a way for him and silently fol- 
lowed. He kept on through the body of the church, 
and ascending the pulpit knelt in secret prayer. He 
rose from his knees with transfigured face, even as 
the face of Moses after he had talked face to face 
with the Holy One of Israel. Without pause, and 
placing his hand on the closed' Bible, he said, with 
infinite pathos, “God’s ways are not our ways. Some- 
times he leads us through troubled waters for his 
marvellous ends, and woe, woe, to any who refuse to 
follow His beckoning finger.” His face flushed to a 
vivid red as he continued: “I had hoped never to be 
compelled to allude to my boyhood. Of its sins I 
have repented and made such atonement as was in my 
power, and I deemed that in mercy Divine Goodness 
had covered the frightful past with the broad mantle 
of charity and oblivion. 

“But my tears and sorrows were not enough to 
satisfy Omnipotent justice, and I was called upon 
for greater expiation” — upraising his shining eyes 
— “I accept my punishment as the chastisings from 
a loving Father — deal with me, oh. Almighty Power, 
as thou wilt ! 

“To this congregation I would say I was born in 
what is called the higher rank of life, and even as a 
little child horses had an inherent attraction for me, 
and before my young legs could reach the stirrups 
87 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


I could ride and control the most unmanageable 
steeds. The passion for horses deepened into a craze. 
I ran away from home to enter a training stable, and 
in time became a noted jockey. My father, after 
fruitless efforts to reclaim me, gave me up — but it 
broke my mother’s heart. 

“One day. Many years have passed since that 
which one day happened to me. The recollection is 
still fresh; the memory will never leave me, but will 
stay with me for my torment till I go to my appointed 
place. My heart was seared as with a red-hot iron; 
the effect can no more pass away than trampled, 
withered flowers can recover fragrance and bloom. 

“I had just dismounted, after winning at Louisville 
with Austerlitz when a tiny slip of yellow paper was 
handed to me. It was from my father, saying: 
‘Come home, if you would see your mother alive.’ 

“In a moment my entire nature changed — what 
had been so dear to me was now hateful. I was only 
conscious of a consuming longing for my mother and 
home,” his features quivering and tears rushing to 
his eyes. 

“It was not far, and still in my jockey clothes I 
obeyed the call. Oh, friends ! friends !” he burst 
forth, “you that have mothers, love them, and bless 
God for them! I saw my mother alive, but speech- 
less. On my knees I cried in agony: ‘Mother! 
forgive me, mother!’ — her loving hand clasped mine, 
and she was gone. 

“In the hope that it might, in some way, please 
her, and in the hope of meeting her, I became what 
88 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


I am, a humble laborer, doing my Master’s work for 
the saving of souls. 

“Can you now wonder that I viewed racing with 
horror? Can you wonder that I should strive with 
all my might to arrest others from a pathway that 
had been so perilous to me? 

“What has so lately happened was not of my 
choosing; but a fiery ordeal through which my frail 
humanity could never have passed, save for the help 
that always comes in our greatest need. That I have 
rescued a piteously helpless family from indigence, 
I count as nothing. But to have rescued an im- 
mortal soul, I count as a crown of glory. James 
Sedley received from my hands the rites of baptism. 
He died peacefully, knowing that those precious to 
him were safe from want, and with the glorious hope 
that makes it easy to die. 

“I have now made the statement due to this con- 
gregation, and should there be any here who deem 
that I have sinned beyond forgiveness, and who can- 
not, in conscience listen to my preaching, they can 
now withdraw, and I will begin my sermon from the 
text: ‘Let him that is without sin, cast the first 
stone.’ ” 

There was not one to leave, and no sermon was ever 
listened to with more profound attention. 

When he stepped from the church door, the con- 
gregation, which had gathered en masse, with up- 
lifted hats raised a cheer. It was not riotous nor 
unholy, but the irrepressible outburst when a people’s 
deep heart is stirred to its utmost. 

89 


THE SPORT OF KINGS 


A certain church member, who had been loudest and 
most virulent in his mutterings, approached the min- 
ister with humbled head, and said, in a voice quiver- 
ing with emotion: 

“It was a most Christian, noble and brave thing 
you have done. Nothing grander was ever done on 
earth.” 

“I am grateful to you, my people,” he meekly 
replied, “for your approbation, but the world’s honors 
and applause to me are but as dross. Here I am but 
a stranger and pilgrim, having no abiding city, and 
humbly striving to do my Master’s will. My king- 
dom is not of this earth.” 

Jake Stoner, who had wept his bandana limp, ex- 
pressed himself : “I always knowed he was true blue, 
and backed him through thick and thin.” 


THE END. 


90 


Xi 08 


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